THE-HAND'OFMERCY 



REV* : RICHARD *W* ALEXANDER 




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Book , H 5 



Copyright^ 1 



.50 



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Zhe Ibanb of flDetc^ 






THE HAND OF MERCY 

"For every one that asketh, reeeiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to 
him that knocketh, it shall be opened." — St, Matthew, vii, 8. 






4. 



TLhe 1ban6 of /Ifoerqp 



BY 

Rev. RICHARD W. ALEXANDER 

Author of lt A Missionary's Note-Book" etc. 



WITH A FOREWORD BY 

Rev. WALTER ELLIOTT, C.S.P. 



NEW YORK 

P. J. KENEDY & SONS 

Printers to ike Holy Apostolic See 

1914 






Copyright, 1914, by P. J. KENEDY & SONS 



NOV 27 1914 

©CI.A387686 



FOREWORD. 



^TMIESE narratives of the journey from 
-*- darkness to light are the fruit of zeal 
for souls, for in writing them the author was 
inspired with a desire of extending God's 
kingdom: They were called stories when 1 
first printed, because they were thrown into 
an orderly shape for clearness ' sake, and 
also to give room for a modest and wholly 
justifiable setting of conversation and scene. 
They are, one and all, a true report of the 
events and the processes of thought leading 
to reception into the Church. Indeed some of 
them might be likened to the work of a con- 
scientious interviewer of the public press. 
The moment they began to appear — most 
of them in the Missionary magazine— they 
were unanimously hailed as an advance upon 
previous brief narratives of the sort, a more 
vivid exhibit of facts, and a superior literary 
force. They are a perfect mingling of the 
outward and inward itinerary from error to 
truth. 



6 FOREWORD 

Catholics everywhere took them up as their 
chart of exploration into the realms of en- 
quiry among their non-Catholic friends. 
They have been fruitful of many, very many, 
conversions. As to earnest seekers after 
truth, the reading of the graphic, realistic, 
sympathetic, and often very pathetic narra- 
tives, has given the signal for the last step 
or the first step toward the light. No Cath- 
olic who has read them is so humdrum as 
not to experience a deepening of love for 
Christ and His Church, a quickening of zeal, 
a stimulant at least to the duty of praying 
for conversions. The feelings attached to 
holy faith are stirred to delightful activity, 
and the sequel is the doing of something for 
making converts, saying something, giving 
good books, watching the mental states of 
outside friends for good opportunities. Who- 
soever reads these " tales' ' — where all the 
persons are real, all events have actually hap- 
pened, all inner crises have, in awful reality, 
existed — must envy the convert-maker his 
noble vocation, and in God's due time be also 
led to strive for souls. Not a few have al- 
ready emulated Father Alexander in re- 
cording in this style the workings of divine 
grace. 

As in all real life so in that of traversing 



FOREWORD 7 

the border-land between error and truth, 
there is an infinitude of variety. No two of 
the conversions here recorded are alike or 
nearly alike; Anything so divine as conver- 
sions must be immune from monotony. 
Therefore there is a perpetual charm of 
novelty in this book in spite of its dealing 
with the same points of departure and of 
arriving, the pilgrimage on the same well- 
trodden road to Catholicity. Every class 
of life, from the penitent cleansed of utter 
filth to the soul of guileless youth, from the 
millionaire in his palace to the pauper in 
the almshouse, is here introduced in typical 
cases of conversion. The author's oppor- 
tunities for acquiring the facts have been 
exceedingly fortunate, and a poetical tem- 
perament — so many times manifested in the 
atmosphere breathed upon the narratives, 
has aided in clothing these records with ex- 
quisite literary beauty. 

Experience proves that converts make the 
best convert-makers. St. Paul's standard! 
appeal to the Jews was the story of his 
own conversion, linked to that of the rejection 
of his Master by His own people. Reading 
of battles makes soldiers. Reading these 
struggles against prejudice, self-interest, 
vicious tendencies, cruelty of family and 



8 FOREWORD 

friends, struggles of heroes often ended by 
a miraculous victory, makes converts and 
trains convert-makers. 

And how well done they are, how beauti- 
fully done ! How true the fancy that clothes 
the events and sets forth the actors in these 
dramas of most real existence ; a fancy that 
is the many-colored livery of the Holy Spirit. 
May the same Holy Spirit spread this volume 
far and wide, and long continue to guide its 
author in collecting and publishing other 
such narratives ! 

Walter Elliott, C.S.P. 

Apostolic Mission House, 
Brookland, D.C. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Foreword 5 

The Hand of Mercy 11 

"My Boy" 17 

"Dominus Est!" 27 

"James Ignatius" 37 

A Mother's Memory 51 

During the Night 63 

The One who was Silent 73 

Through the Sacred Heart 78 

Zuliema : A Story of Darkest Africa 88 

An Important Science 104 

The Chaplain's Story 116 

The Strength of the Weak 122 

Two Sinners 126 

Fruition 134 

The Organist 139 

The Light of His Eyes 146 

Into the Kingdom 151 

The Major's Promise 162 

The Stolen Rosary 170 

March Seventeenth 175 

9 



10 CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Boy's Convert 185 

His Earthly Throne 202 

The Man from Kerry 213 

"God Called Me" 220 

The Badge of the Sacred Heart 238 

The Divine Magnet 243 

"Better Things" 249 

The Master's Goodness 254 

The Eleventh Hour 262 

Her Recompense 268 

"He Came unto His Own" 280 

Inspirations 284 



THE HAND OF MERCY 



THE HAND OF MERCY. 

PiURING the past summer I had the 
-"-^ privilege of meeting a brother priest, 
whose delightful personality and high cul- 
ture, as well as unobtrusive goodness, im- 
pressed me in a most striking manner. He 
was one whose words carried conviction in 
the simplest conversation, and I had many 
delightful chats with him the week we spent 
together. Our talk turned one evening on 
the mercy of God toward sinners and the 
value of intercessory prayer. 

At this point he stopped with a smile. 

"I should like to tell you of an experience 
of mine," he said, "but it is so unusual and 
so liable to be disbelieved by many, that I 
very rarely mention it. Of its truth, how- 
ever, I am as firmly convinced as I am of the 
fact that we are sitting here together." 

Needless to say that I urged him strongly 

11 



12 THE HAND OF MERCY 

to continue, and after some hesitancy he con- 
sented, with this remark: 

"I know, Father Alexander, that you will 
find it extraordinary : but I want to state in 
the most emphatic manner that it is entirely 
true, and there are at least three living who 
will testify to the circumstances having oc- 
curred. ' ' 

"All things are possible where God's 
mercy to sinners is involved, " I replied. 
"You make me more anxious to hear the cir- 
cumstance. ' * 

"Well, then," he answered, "here it is, 
with no embellishments — only the simple 
facts. It happened about two years ago. Un- 
usually fatigued one evening, after a busy 
day's work in my pastoral duties, I retired 
about ten o'clock. I fell into a sound sleep. 
Suddenly I was awakened by a knock at my 
door. I sat up, wide awake. It was repeated, 
and I called out: 'Come in.' There was a 
light in the room, somewhat dim, but distinct 
enough to see the young man who entered, 
closed the door behind him, and turned to- 
ward me. I recognized him as a young friend 
of mine who was studying for the priesthood. 
I had not seen him for six months, but knew 
he was at the Seminary, and a most pious 
and fervent fellow. 



THE HAND OF MERCY 13 

"I noticed his extreme paleness, and it 
occurred to me that he had come late to town, 
arrived at the house and, disturbing no one, 
came directly to my room. 

"I was partly prepared for the remark 
which followed: 

" i Father, I want to go to confession.' 

" 'All right,' I said, and I sprang 
up, slipped into my cassock and took my 
stole. 

" There was a small kneeling bench, or 
prie-dieu, and a chair close by, and I 
motioned him toward them. As I seated my- 
self I looked him full in the face. It seemed 
that the resemblance to the young cleric I 
mentioned came and went, puzzling me not 
a little. 

"I heard his confession, gave him absolu- 
tion, and, although the whole circumstance 
was unusual, coming at night to my room and 
at that hour, I said nothing more and dis- 
missed him with the usual 'God bless you.' 
As he closed the door I heard the clock in 
the hallway strike two; its tones were un- 
usually vibrant. I looked at my watch; it 
also pointed to two o 'clock. 

"I sought my pillow and fell asleep im- 
mediately. I rose at my usual hour, and 
said my Mass with no thought of the oc- 



14 THE HAND OF MEECY 

currence. Shortly after breakfast I met 
one of the other priests. 

" 'It was unfortunate about that sick call,' 
he said. 

" 'What about it?' I remarked. 

" 'Why, the poor fellow was dead when we 
got there. 9 

"I looked at him. 

" 'Who was it V I asked. 

" 'Mr. X ■; he died of gastritis in 

twelve hours. He is the brother of young 

X who is studying for the priesthood 

in our Seminary. I am afraid he was a hard 
case, too, poor fellow*.' 

" 'What time did the call come?' 

" 'Between one and two o'clock this morn- 
ing. ' 

"Instantly my experience, or whatever you 
wish to call it, came to mind. I told the cir- 
cumstance to my brother-priest, also that I 
thought it was the young cleric himself who 
came to my room. He was astonished. 'He 
never ceases to pray for that brother, who 
is rather wild,' he said. 'But, Father, you 
had better go to the house and verify your 
experience. ' 

"I went to the house and paid a visit of 
condolence to the family. They brought me 
to the remains. When I looked at the dead 



THE HAND OF MEECY 15 

face of the young man, I recognized my 
penitent of the night before — the puzzling 
resemblance to the young cleric was ex- 
plained. 

'"Oh, Father! if he only had had the 
priest!' was the cry of the sorrowing mother; 
'his brother, who is studying for the priest- 
hood, prayed for him day and night. He 
knew he was a little wild!' 

"And then the tender fulness of God's 
mercy broke upon me, and I realized that the 
prayers of the young Levite who had offered 
himself to the service of the altar had ob- 
tained the grace of conversion and reconcilia- 
tion with God for the brother who had passed 
away. 

" 'Bo not weep,' I said to the mother. 
'God has been merciful to your son's soul. 
I feel sure his brother's prayers have won 
his salvation. ' 

" 'Oh, Father, do you think so?' was the 
cry. 
. " 'I do,' I said fervently. 

"The vision of that white face in the night, 
and the memory of the absolution I had pro- 
nounced, passed before me. My heart grew 
full of a sentiment of awe and gratitude to 
which I could not give words. 



16 THE HAND OF MERCY 

"But I left that mother comforted." 

# # # # # 

There was silence for a moment as the 
Father finished his story, and a great rever- 
ence and confidence in God's mercy rose up 
in my own soul: To me there was nothing 
strange in it. I felt that it was true. 



"MY BOY." 

TT was a sad call the Humane Society's 
-*- Agent had that day — a call to an alley, in 
a poor, but quite respectable neighborhood. 
A woman, lonely, self-supporting, but re- 
served as to her own affairs, had died in a 
little room, high up in a tenement house. 

There was unfinished fine needlework on 
a table near by ; every appearance of respect- 
ability and even taste, in the meager furnish- 
ings of her poor room; and the mark of 
gentle blood in the delicately cut features of 
the little orphaned boy who sat terrified in 
a corner, at a distance from the bed on 
which his dead mother lay. His face was set, 
and his brown curly hair lay uncombed on 
his forehead. His eyes were red with weep- 
ing, and his chin rested in his hands as he 
leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at 
everything with the look of one who had 
never before seen death. 

"That's the boy," whispered a neighbor, 
"he doesn't understand. He is only six years 
old, you know. The only child." 

17 



18 THE HAND OF MERCY 

"Come here, my boy," said the Humane 
Society's Agent. 

The boy rose slowly, and came over to 
the Agent, who reached out his hand. The 
small fingers were laid in it, and the blue, 
swimming eyes looked steadily into the man's 
kind face. 

"Mother's dead," said the child, solemnly. 
"She hated to leave me alone. I have no- 
body now." 

The sweet voice, the neglected look of the 
little lad, went strangely to the Agent's 
heart. 

"What is your name, my boy?" asked he. 

"Arthur Maxwell, and I'm six years old; 
and father is dead, too: I — " he added, as if 
a fresh sorrow had made its way back to his 
memory. 

The Humane Society's Agent was a kind 
man. His duty had not hardened him. He 
was strangely drawn to the little fellow, who 
showed marks of gentle training and better 
days. 

"Would you like to come with me to night? 
It is lonely here for a boy. I'll bring you 
back to see mother tomorrow." 

For answer the small chap threw his arms 
around Mr. Benjamin Brown's neck, and the 
Humane Society's Agent felt a throb of gen- 



"MY BOY" 19 

uine love stir his heart as he pressed him 
close, and thrilled with the joy of the soft 
cheek laid against his own. 

"Will you come, Arthur?" 

"Sure!" said Arthur, smiles breaking into 
the blue eyes as he wiped away the tears 
on his sleeve, and took possession of his new 
friend's hand. The two or three women who 
were present nodded their approval. Mr. 
Brown said a few words about the funeral, 
finding there was not a single friend or rela- 
tive to step forward to bury the poor woman, 
who had evidently worn out her life trying 
to prolong that of her little son and to keep 
them both from the charity of the city. 

Mr. Brown learned, too, that Mrs. Max- 
well was a Catholic, and although he was a 
staunch Presbyterian, he did not hesitate to 
give orders that she should be buried in the 
Catholic cemetery with all the ceremonies of 
the Church. In fact he called on the parish 
priest himself to see that this was done. He 
found out that Arthur was the only child 
of his mother, who had come to poverty no 
one knew how. She had not been long in 
the locality, and was evidently well born and 
well bred ; this was further evidenced by the 
papers she left behind, among which were her 
marriage certificate and the records of the 



20 THE HAND OF MERCY 

boy's birth, and bis baptism in an English 
Catholic church six years before; The priest 
inquired keenly about the Humane Society's 
intention relating to the boy. 

Mr. Benjamin Brown frankly acknowledged 
he had designs himself on the little lad. 

"You see, Father,' ' he said, "I am a 
bachelor, but I have lost my heart for the 
first time in my life, and it is to that boy ! I 
want him — I want to adopt him and give him 
a home and make him happy.' ' 

"But," said the priest, "how will you do 
that? Don't you live in bachelor's apart- 
ments?" 

"I do," said Mr. Brown. "Still I want that 
boy!" 

"But you can't take him there," responded 
the priest. "It would be out of the question, 
Mr. Brown. To be sure he has no one to 
claim him at present, but no Society would 
approve of his going to you under the cir- 
cumstances. Don't you see it yourself?" 

"I want that boy," said Mr. Brown. "I 
want to care for him, educate him, give him 
a college course and a start in life, and you 
must tell me how to secure him, Father. I 
tell you I have lost my heart to him." 

The priest could not help smiling at his 
earnestness. 



"MY BOY" 21 

"Beally, Mr. Brown, you deserve to have 
him since you are so attached to him. I 
know of one way: Take him to the Catholic 
Orphans' home, and place him formally in 
the care of the good Sisters, with the under- 
standing that as soon as he is able to go to 
college you will be at liberty to send him. 
But it must be a Catholic college — remember 
that. The boy's parents were Catholics, and 
he is a baptized member of the Catholic 
Church. His mother died in my parish, and 
I am bound to see to this. You would not 
want to tamper with his religion, would you? ' 9 

"Never, Father," said the man. "I*m 
square, if I'm anything. I will take your ad- 
vice. You will give me a letter to the Home, 
will you not?" 

"Most certainly," said the priest. 

So it happened. When Arthur's mother 
was laid in her lonely grave, the little lad 
was taken to the Orphans' Home by Mr. 
Brown. It cost poor Arthur, who had grown 
to love his benefactor, many bitter tears when 
he heard he was to leave him, and almost 
stabbed the heart of Mr. Brown. But the 
good Sisters opened their arms and hearts 
to the sobbing boy. 

"Don't cry, Arthur," said Mr. Brown. 
"Be a man! I'll come to see you Sunday, 



22 THE HAND OF MEECY 

and bring you a train of cars and a picture 
book." 

Arthur brightened up. 

"Will you? A really train of cars, with a 
choo-choo, and a cowcatcher, and a bell?" 

"Yes, all that, and a big book." 

i i Hooray ! ' ' said Arthur, smiling: ' ' Hurry 
up Sunday, Uncle Ben; hurry up!" And 
leaving him still smiling and waving his 
hand, Mr. Brown departed, relieved, yet 
wishing he had some way of keeping this 
small bit of sunshine nearer to himself. 

He was as good as his word. On Sunday 
he arrived at the "Home" with a large par- 
cel, in which were the picture book and the 
train of cars. Arthur was radiant. He was 
neatly dressed, his curls brushed, and his 
eyes were like stars. He was happy and 
had a thousand things to tell his "Uncle 
Ben." The coveted parcel was examined, 
and it was good to see the little fellow's 
delight. 

So it went on, Sunday after Sunday, for 
six long years. The boy grew a sturdy fellow, 
yet ever gentle and devoted to his "Uncle 
Ben. ' ' He knew no other name for him. The 
Sisters reported him remarkably pious and 
religious for a boy. And now, in his twelfth 
year, "Uncle Ben," whose love for the boy 



"MY BOY" 23 

had never diminished, looked for a college in 
which he might begin his course. 

"It must be a Catholic college," he mused. 
"I gave my word to the priest." 

We can judge from this what manner 
of honorable gentleman was Mr. Brown; So 
it came to pass that Arthur was sent to a 
Southern college under the care of a great 
religious order, his beloved "Uncle Ben" de- 
fraying all the expenses of his wardrobe and 
tuition. 

The years passed on. Arthur was a grate- 
ful boy. His letters, sent regularly, were the 
one great joy of his so-called Uncle Ben, who 
watched his progress with pride and hope. 
Now and then Arthur would speak of his 
happiness in his faith, and in fervent words 
would express the wish that his benefactor 
knew something of the one true religion. But 
Uncle Ben would only shrug his shoulders 
and say: "It is enough for me to be a good 
Presbyterian. ' ' 

Arthur's graduation day came. Uncle 
Ben was there, proud of his boy. There was 
something noble and pure, and altogether in- 
scrutable in the appearance of the young man 
— something that rather awed Uncle Ben, he 
could hardly say why. After the exercises 
Arthur and his benefactor took a walk under 



24 THE HAND OF MEECY 

the college trees. Uncle Ben praised him for 
his fine record. Then came the question: 

"What do you want to make of yourself, 
my son?" 

Arthur paused. Placing his hand on the 
arm of his adopted father, he looked him 
straight in the face, while his eyes brimmed 
with unshed tears. 

"Uncle Ben, a lifetime would be too short 
to thank you for all you have done for me. 
My heart swells when I think of your noble, 
generous goodness. I can never, never re- 
pay you." 

"Tut, tut," said Uncle Ben, hastily, but 
deeply touched; "Don't say that. You 
have been a reward in yourself, Arthur. My 
greatest joy in life these fourteen years has 
been your affection, your gratitude, and 
your success; but your real life is ahead of 
you. What shall it be?" 

"Uncle Ben," said the young man sol- 
emnly, "day and night have I thought of it 
these two years past. It is no hasty 
notion. I may disappoint you, for you can- 
not look upon it as I do ; I shall be a priest 
of God, and pray for your conversion." 

Mr. Brown became ghastly pale, stared at 
him, and then sank down upon a bench near 
by, without a word. 



"MY BOY" 25 

We cannot portray the scene that fol- 
lowed. It was continued the next day, and 
it was long before Arthur obtained permis- 
sion to follow his desire. He won, however, 
and although his heart bled at the wound 
he gave his benefactor, he was strangely ex- 
ultant. It was decided he should remain and 
go into the Seminary. A pale, broken look- 
ing old man wrung his hand in silence a few 
days later, as he boarded the train going 
North, and Arthur noticed that he did not 

once look back. 

* * * # # 

That was some years ago. Yesterday — 
only yesterday — Mr. Brown called to see me. 
He had a photograph in his hand. 

"Father Alexander," said he, with a note 
of pride in his voice; "I want to show you 
m y b°y> Arthur. He was ordained a priest 
last Saturday and said his first Mass on Sun- 
day, and said it for me; and he has sent 
me his photograph." 

I looked at the photograph; it showed a 
tall, slender figure, with the pure eyes, open 
face, and Eoman collar of the young priest. 
It was good to look at. I told him so, and 
his gratified flush assured me that my praise 
was music to his ears. 

"You may be proud of him, Mr. Brown," 



26 THE HAND OF MERCY 

I continued. "And he said his first Mass 
for you? There is no danger of your re- 
maining out of the Catholic Church long 
now. Get ready to come in." 

He smiled. "I guess you are about right, 
Father, though I've held out a good while. 
It broke me all up when he wanted to be 
a priest. I have got over that now, and I 
am glad. I have seen a good deal of your 
cloth, Father, in my position, and the Catho- 
lic priest is God's noblest work. I honor 
him. Won't you give me a book to read? 
I want to know what your Church teaches." 

I gave him "The Faith of Our Fathers." 
He promised to read it. 

He will come back, reader. I ask your 
prayers that it may be soon. Uniting with 
the prayers of his adopted son we may bd 
sure that heaven will not delay the moment 
of grace for this good man, who has glorified 
his life by his noble and unselfish kindness 
to a desolate orphan boy. 

"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall 
obtain mercy." 



"DOMINUS EST!" 

HPHE white-capped nurses of the great 
-*- hospital in the city's suburbs had as- 
sembled in their auditorium for the evening 
lecture, which was always given by some 
noted specialist. Among them was a slender 
girl, who had put on the neat uniform of the 
probationer that very day. She was tall, 
with clear, fair complexion, abundant auburn 
hair, and earnest dark blue eyes. She had 
moved about all day like one in a dream ; 
silently performed, with all her soul, the 
various tasks assigned her, and one could 
see that her heart was in her work. 

In the afternoon the good nun who had 
charge of the training school placed some 
text-books before her, gave her an allotment 
of study, and asked her how she liked her 
work. The answer was enthusiastic. 

"Why, madame, I love it!" 

"I am very glad," said the nun; "but you 
must not call me ' madame,' you must say, 
'Sister'!" 

The girl flushed: "I beg your pardon," 

27 



28 THE HAND OF MEECY 

she said. "I never met religious ladies be- 
fore, and I did not know how to address 
them. ' Sister ' is a beautiful word, if it is 
not too familiar." 

"We are sisters to the whole world," re- 
turned the nun, "and our work in the hos- 
pital brings us very close to the world; that 
is, the greater part of the world, for there 
is more suffering in it than pleasure!" 

"It was this part of the work that attracted 
me," said the girl; "I do want to become 
useful to suffering people, and I mean to 
leave nothing undone to qualify myself 
thoroughly for the noble profession of a 
trained nurse." 

"That sounds well," said the nun, "keep 
to that ideal, follow instructions, and you 
will attain your wish." 

"I would like to ask a question," the girl 
faltered. 

"And I will be glad to answer it," said 
the nun. 

"You know I am not a Roman Catholic. 
Will I be permitted to worship God as I have 
been taught at home?" 

"We never discuss religion in the train- 
ing school," said the nun. "You are here 
to study medicine — the human body and its 
ills. Only, in case of a patient requesting a 



"DOMINUS EST!" 29 

nurse to bring a minister of religion, she 
reports to the head of the department, and 
then leaves the matter in her hands. The 
head of your department is myself, and I 
always shall be glad and ready to assist you 
in any doubtful matter. You are free to 
practice your own ideas of religion without 
remark or intrusion. And now, Miss Golden, 
here is the text of tonight's lecture. You 
will find it well to be prepared for Dr. G — . f ' 
Smiling, the nun pointed out the books, 
and left the girl to her studies. Stella bent 
her head over her book, and applied her- 
self assiduously to her task. At the time of 
the lecture that first evening we find her 
seated with her class listening with rapt at- 
tention to the learned physician, who was one 
of the most eminent specialists of the day, 

Two busy years passed by. Miss Golden 
saw many things in that Catholic hospital 
which opened new vistas of thought to her 
mind. Naturally reverent, she looked with 
admiration at the unselfish work of the 
Sisters who conducted the vast work of the 
Institution, envied their skill, and tried to 
acquire their self-control and calm readiness 
for emergencies. There was no change in her 
religious attitude — she rather prided herself 



30 THE HAND OF MEECY 

on that fact. She seldom attended any ser- 
vices in the hospital chapel. Her love of 
beauty, however, impelled her occasionally 
to go to Benediction. She loved the flower- 
decked altar, the singing of the nuns, the 
reverent attitude of those who prayed, and 
she bowed with them when the little silver 
bell announced the Benediction. A sweet, 
restful peace stole over her soul at these 
moments, and she found herself saying: "I 
wish I could believe that God was there 1" 

In the discharge of her duties Nurse Golden 
saw how weak were human supports when 
pain or sickness racked the frame. How sad 
were the deaths of those who had no hope 
beyond the grave ! How terrifying were the 
last moments of those who had placed them- 
selves beyond spiritual assistance ! 

No one ever brought up the subject of re- 
ligion, but she observed everything. The 
girl had a heart that yearned for a living 
faith — for a peace of soul that should abide 
with her and help her, when her time came, 
to die like some of the poor Catholic patients : 
who looked with the all-seeing eyes of the 
spirit into the great Beyond, and saw there 
everlasting joy, and the beauty of God and 
His saints. She was faithful to her work, to 
the duties of her profession, and had already 



"DOMINUS EST!" 31 

begun to look forward to the future that 
would open to her after her graduation. And 
according to her light she prayed. 

One day a Catholic patient who was under 
her care received the Holy Viaticum. Nurse 
Golden arranged, as she had been taught, the 
white pillows and counterpane, the little 
table with its crucifix, candles, holy water, 
etc., beside the bed. She left the room 
while a priest, attended by a nun, adminis- 
tered the Holy Sacrament, and when he 
passed back again to the chapel she returned 
to the bedside to extinguish the candles and 
remove the table. The patient's eyes were 
closed, the face was full of rapt devotion. 
Nurse Golden looked at her, deeply im- 
pressed. Then, moving lightly around the 
bed she disarranged the counterpane, and 
from one of the heavy folds there fell Some- 
thing, snow-white and round, that fluttered 
to the polished floor beneath the bed. 

A strange tremor seized the nurse. She 
gazed on the little white Object. It drew her, 
and scarce knowing what she was doing, she 
fell on her knees and gently picked up the 
Sacred Host with her fingers. 

Hardly had she laid It in the palm of her 
hand when a marvelous thrill passed through 
her soul, and with it — Faith. It was the 



32 THE HAND OF MERCY 

Lord! She knew it. Nothing now could 
change that belief. She knew it. 

Then instantly came a fear; 

"I should never have touched It!" 

Hastily she arose, opened a chest of 
drawers in the room, and laid the Sacred 
Host on a pile of clean, snow-white linen. 

Hurriedly, and with strange thrills quiver- 
ing through her body, she glanced at the 
patient, who had not moved, and then went 
swiftly to a Catholic nurse who stood at the 
medicine press outside. 

"I have touched the Lord!" she whispered, 
her face tense and her eyes glowing: "He is 
in there still ! ' ' 

The Catholic nurse stared at her. Was 
Nurse Golden out of her mind? What on 
earth was wrong? Sometimes the poor 
nurses were over excited and exhausted in 
their strenuous life, and became feverish. 

Then Nurse Golden explained — the words 
rushing from her eager lips. The Catholic 
girl drew back in terror. 

"Why, Miss Golden!" she said in awed 
tones. "You should not have dared to touch 
the Blessed Sacrament! Oh, let me go at 
once for Sister!" 

Nurse Golden stood in the doorway, her 
eyes fixed on the dresser, her heart throbbing 



"DOMINUS EST I" 33 

wildly. In a very few moments the chap- 
lain came hurrying down the corridor, and 
accosted her excitedly. 

"What is this I hear, Miss Golden? You 
lifted the Blessed Sacrament from the floor? 
And you a Protestant? You, who do not be- 
lieve in the Blessed Sacrament?" 

"I believe now, Father! I know. I have 
touched the Lord!" she said. 

She fell on her knees, and pointed to the 
dresser. The priest opened the drawer — 
there lay the Sacred Particle. His face 
flushed. He took the stole from his pocket, 
placed it around his neck, lifted the linen 
towel on which the Particle reposed, and 
silently and reverently carried It with down- 
cast eyes to the chapel. 

There was subdued excitement among the 
nurses and Sisters when Miss Golden ex- 
plained her act, and what followed it in her 
soul. And there was more excitement when 
the chaplain declared he had placed only one 
Host in the small pyx, and that he was posi- 
tively sure of the matter. Again and again 
he reiterated this assertion, and held to it 
in spite of the ventured suggestions of others, 
that there might have been two Particles. 

"Impossible in this case," he said: "I had 
only one communicant, and I brought only 



34 THE HAND OF MERCY 

one Host. I am positively certain of this 
fact. Nothing could convince me to the con- 
trary. ' ' 

"Where did the other Host come fromV 
No answer came to this oft-repeated ques- 
tion: But Miss Golden asked to be instructed 
in the Catholic faith, was baptized, and in 
time made her first holy Communion. Her 
devotion to the Blessed Sacrament was in- 
tense. She could hardly speak of Our Lord 
in the Holy Eucharist without tears. The 
miraculous answer to the question was her 
conversion — the only member of her entire 
family a Catholic. She continued her course 
in the training school, graduated with honor, 
saw that a successful future was awaiting 
her, and with the good wishes of all, she 
left the hospital. 

•R? ^r *7v ^K* ^n* 

Five years passed away. It was Easter 
Monday morning. Sunlight filtered through 
the stained glass windows of a well known 
convent chapel, and lay in glory on the tall 
lilies that bent toward the Holy of holies. 
Mass was going on, and the sweet voices of 
the nun-choir trembled on the fragrant air. 
How beautiful are the words : 

"Regnum mundi et omnem ornatum saeculi 
contempsi! contempsi! (The kingdom of the 



"DOMINUS EST!" 35 

world, and its pleasures, I have despised — I 
have despised/ 7 for the sake of Our Lord.) 

A single voice was singing now : 

"Quern vidi, quern amavi — {"Whom I have 
seen, Whom I have loved") And from the 
center of the marble nave a veiled figure 
rose from her knees, and advanced to the foot 
of the altar. 

A group of vested clergy surrounded the 
crimson-robed celebrant as he turned to her, 
and holding up the white Host that once 
had thrilled her to the very core of her being, 
paused. In the breathless hush came the 
clear sweet voice : 

"In the name of Our Lord and Saviour, I 
Sister Estelle of the Blessed Sacrament, 
vow and promise to God, Poverty, Chastity, 
Obedience, Perseverance." 

Could one mistake the voice? Could one 
mistake the slender figure, the pale, spirit- 
ualized face? There was rapture in the 
tone — a note of triumph in the sweet words 

of immolation. 

* # # # # 

Happy Nurse Golden! What sweeter 
Lover could have enthralled you? What 
more precious chains than the vows could 
have fettered you? What safer home than 
"the cleft of the rock, the hollow places of 



36 THE HAND OF MERCY 

the wall" figuratively spoken in the Scrip- 
tures of the cloister, where the white dove of 
the chosen soul may fold its wings, close to 
the Tabernacle forever? 

Aye, forever! He shall fold you in His 
arms until the day declines and the shadows 
fall, and then there will meet you the virgin 
band, who follow the Lamb through all 
eternity. 



"JAMES IGNATIUS." 

A True Stoky. 

l4 TT7ELL, James Ignatius, how do you 
" feel this morning?" said the cheery 
voice of the great surgeon, as he stopped at 
a little white bed in the children's ward of a 
certain hospital. 

"Fine, doctor! Eeady for a prize fight!" 
said a sweet boy-voice, and a pale, spiritual 
boy-face from its white pillow smiled a weak 
greeting*. 

Gruff Dr. Storm always stopped at James 
Ignatius ' bed. He had been head surgeon at 
the hospital for a number of years, and for 
four of those years he had passed the bed of 
little James Ignatius daily. The nurses said 
(and so did the staff) that James Ignatius 
was the only one who had the inside track 
of the doctor's heart. If they dared, his 
medical brethren would have teased the iron 
man about his favorite, but no one could 
with impunity be merry with the doctor. He 
was like a bronze statue — interested in none 

37 



38 , ^THE HAND OF MEECY 

of the amenities of life, but an authority in 
his profession. To see him in his surgeon's 
white gown handling a scalpel, touching the 
human body with the sure, delicate touch of 
certain knowledge, laying his slender, steel- 
like fingers on muscle and tissue, vein and 
bone with the artistry of a master, was a 
sight his fellow-surgeons hung upon with the 
delight of enthusiasts. 

James Ignatius had been long in his hands 
— a bright little lad, full of grit and endur- 
ance, who smiled when his blood was flowing, 
and who looked upon Dr. Storm as an arch- 
angel in human form, because, although he 
had not been able to twist his crooked spine 
into shape for walking, he had given him the 
use of his hands, and had dulled the pain from 
which he had never known a minute's free- 
dom since he remembered anything in all 
his thirteen years of life. 

Dr. Storm despised pet names. At the 
beginning the nurses called his patient "poor 
little Jim." Then came the first operation, 
when the lad was obliged to feel the knife 
without an anesthetic, and the doctor, even 
with a woman's gentleness, had to hurt him 
sorely. 

The lad, with great drops of sweat stand- 
ing out on his pale face, smiled bravely and 



"JAMES IGNATIUS' ' 39 

cried out, in a boy's language, "Bully for 
you, doctor! you know how to hurt a fel- 
low!" The ghost of a smile circled the set 
faces surrounding the operating table, even 
in Dr. Storm's eye appeared the shadow of 
a twinkle. After that the doctor always 
called him James. 

The boy liked it, and when the good 
Bishop came to the ward one day, wearing 
his golden miter and carrying his crozier, 
and confirmed a number of the patients, 
James asked to have "Ignatius" added to 
his name. 

"You see," the little fellow explained, 
"he was a soldier and he had to lie in bed 
like me, for weeks with a bad leg, and he 
never growled. I want to be a soldier like 
him!" And so after his Confirmation day 
he would answer to no name but "James 
Ignatius." 

There was an innate purity and refinement 
of soul in this little crippled lad that shone 
on his remarkable face. Every one who 
looked at him once looked again. He had 
delicate, but masculine features. His broad 
forehead was crowned by chestnut hair, cut 
short. His eyes were large and blue; nose 
and chin were strongly chiseled, but the mouth 
was sweetness itself. No one could see 



40 THE HAND OF MERCY 

James Ignatius smile without relaxing, and 
his laugh was so musical and ringing that 
it was contagious. 

He lay in bed quietly, except when the 
nurse picked him up and placed him in a 
large reclining chair and wheeled him to the 
window, whence he could see the hills and the 
country in the distance. He had a keen ap- 
preciation of the beautiful, and with the pre- 
cocity so often met with in afflicted children 
he had a maturity of mind beyond his years. 

Reading was his favorite occupation — 
reading far in advance of his age. Scott, 
Shakespeare, the New Testament, a Kempis. 
It was amazing to see these volumes in his 
transparent fingers, and to hear James Ig- 
natius talk about his favorite chapters. Of- 
ten Dr. Storm and he would have a passage- 
at-arms on the reading of the day, and the 
doctor would be stirred to wonder at the boy's 
cleverness and mental development. To 
James Ignatius this strong-faced doctor, 
with his six feet of height, his firm hands, 
his gruff voice, was an object of adoration. 
The great blue eyes kindled with unmistak- 
able lovelight whenever the doctor ap- 
proached him. 

The day Dr. Storm did not speak when he 
passed James Ignatius' bed was a day of 



"JAMES IGNATIUS" 41 

languor and drooping for the little lad, and 
by degrees the doctor came to know it and 
to fall under its spell. James Ignatius found 
there was a gentler tone for him, a thrill in 
the firm handclasp, even a smile on the cast- 
iron face, which fact evoked all the love and 
hero-worship of his boy-heart. 

At last as he grew slowly worse, and the 
doctor sat by his side, finger on his pulse, 
the boy broke through the crust of the re- 
pressed heart of the man, and confidences 
flowed from one to the other! The old, old 
story of human love — that great, calm, beau- 
tiful, peerless love called friendship! 

James Ignatius told the doctor how hard 
it had been for him to see other boys leaping 
and romping over the hills at out-door sports, 
and asked him why God had decreed it so. 
And Dr. Storm, falling back on his long- 
forgotten Catholic instruction in years gone 
by, told him that Providence was always 
right, no matter what it seemed like — easy 
or hard. And James Ignatius asked the 
doctor if that was his religion ! For once in 
his life Dr. Storm lost the incisive, crisp 
speech that was so characteristic of him. 
His faltering was not unnoticed by James 
Ignatius. 

"Doctor," he said, "do you think God 



42 THE HAND OF MERCY 

troubles Himself much about a poor little 
boy like me? Nobody cares for me but 
Him, and yet " 

The tone went to the '.mail's heart and 
stirred the depths of his strong nature. 

" Don't you think I care for you, James 
Ignatius? Am I not your friend?" 

The blood rushed to the boy's pale face. 
Great tears stood in the blue eyes. He took 
one hand of the doctor between both of his 
and impulsively kissed it. Silence fell be- 
tween them, a silence that was eloquent to 
both, for both understood. The great 
scientist, with his fertile brain, his vast 
learning, and his starved heart, and the frail 
boy, lonely and suffering, were glorified in 
this seemingly unequal, strange, yet entirely 
comprehended friendship. 

Oh ! Friendship, how sweet thou art ! Let 
the heart but once, in its long years of throb- 
bing, find thee in thy beauty and thy 
strength, be it in man or woman or child, 
is it not a glimpse of lost Eden? What is 
the mad ecstacy of love in its brief passion 
to the white blossom of a friend's devotion — 
to the tenderness of a friend's hand-clasp, 
to the sweetness of a friend's affectionate 
words? Blessed is he who has found a friend 
— bands of steel are not strong enough to 



" JAMES IGNATIUS" 43 

clasp him to one's self or hold him to one's 
soul forever ! 

And Dr. Storm, with that closed and 
barred heart that had never unlocked to 
man or woman, found himself melting before 
the worshipful love of a little child! 

James Ignatius told him how great and 
good he seemed to him; what power he had 
to heal, and how close he must be to the 
great God who created all things, when he 
could handle the flesh and bone of his fel- 
lows, and make whole those who were 
maimed. 

"But, James Ignatius, I haven't made you 
whole yet, and I fear I never can," said 
Dr. Storm. 

"I don't count, doctor," said James Ig- 
natius. "I never was straight or whole, like 
other boys. I would have to be made over 
again! I am of no use." 

*Yes — you — are!" said the doctor. "You 
have more grit and more patience than half 
the men in this hospital*. I often say to 
some of them when they whimper, 'You 
ought to see James Ignatius suffer!' " 

The boy's transparent skin was suffused 
with a delicate flush at the doctor's praise. 
Such words rarely fell from his lips. 

"I don't see any use of complaining," 



44 THE HAND OF MERCY 

said he. "You help me a heap, doctor, and 
when I suffer the most I say: 'Lord, I'll suf- 
fer all you send me if you keep suffering 
away from my good doctor V" 

"Do you really say that, boy?" 

"Every day, doctor. I tell the Lord I'm 
willing to bear every pain and ache that 
comes if He doesn't send any to you!" 

And then Dr. Storm remembered his per- 
fect health these past years, and wondered 
if James Ignatius ' prayers had anything to 
do with it. He was silent so long that the 
boy feared he was offended, and so expressed 
himself. 

' i Offended ? Good heavens, boy ! how could 
I be? I was thinking that you had perhaps 
been saying my prayers before the Lord all 
these years. I have never had a minute's 
pain, and never had a minute 's time to pray 
for myself." 

"Oh, doctor! do you never pray?" 

"Not much, my son." 

"And how do you expect God to take care 
of you?" 

The question was incisive, and the doctor 
flinched before the clear blue eyes. His re- 
ligion was his profession, and it was true 
that his knees rarely bent in prayer. He felt 
reproved. 



"JAMES IGNATIUS" 45 

James Ignatius slipped his thin little hand 
into the firm, strong one of the doctor and 
said : , 

"I'll ask God to let all your kind deeds to 
people be your prayers, and then I'll pray 
more and more that your life may be good 
and happy. But, doctor, you must speak to 
Him yourself sometimes. He will always 
hear you!" 

The doctor rose hastily and said his time 
was up— but he smiled his rare smile into 
the eyes of the boy, like a flash of light from 
behind a storm cloud. James Ignatius lay 
still and thought. Could it be possible that 
his idolized doctor never prayed to Our 
Lord, -and to His sweet, spotless Mother, 
whom he loved so much ? Impossible ! And 
then he slipped his hands under the covers 
and with closed eyes said his rosary for Dr. 
Storm, while the nurse tip-toed past and 
thought he slept*. 

Dr. Storm's heart became like wax in the 
hands of James Ignatius. He did not know 
how it came about, but he found himself tell- 
ing him of his early life, of his struggles, of 
his bitter experiences, of the death of all he 
loved, his gradual cynicism and absorption of 
his soul by his profession. To all of which 
James Ignatius listened gravely, never by 



46 THE HAND OF MERCY 

a wrong word jarring on his mood. And in 
the few minutes' talk of every day by that 
little bed the strong man found the simple 
old faith of his childhood and the beliefs of 
his youth. 

James Ignatius brought him back to God, 
and the great surgeon learned again how to 
pray from the guileless yet stern admoni- 
tions of the dying lad. 

Yes, the crippled boy was dying now. All 
the resources of science had proved vain and 
useless, and Dr. Storm confessed himself 
vanquished as he looked at the thin face and 
saw the light of the blessed vision in the eyes 
of the patient-martyr. 

It was Holy Week. In the days that suc- 
ceeded Palm Sunday James Ignatius grew 
worse. Dr. Storm was sterner than usual, 
more unsmiling, as such men are when their 
hearts are stirred. His short visits to the 
little fellow's bed became more frequent, and 
on Holy Thursday morning he left word that 
a wine glass of milk and stimulant should 
be given to James Ignatius every three hours. 
The boy had no inclination to talk to any 
one but to Dr. Storm, though a faint little 
smile always appeared when any one did a 
kind act for him. 

Another lad who was a patient in the ward 



"JAMES IGNATIUS" 47 

often sat by his bed, and thus relieved the 
nurse when she went elsewhere. James Ig- 
natius shared his dainties with this little 
chum, Dickie, who was not blest with much 
wisdom or wit, and who greedily accepted all 
the good things that came his way. He had 
given him everything eatable that kind 
friends had sent him during Holy Week, and 
Dickie quietly carried everything away to a 
certain hiding-place, where he secretly de- 
voured them at leisure. Oranges, bon-bons, 
fruits of all kinds disappeared, and the nurse 
flattered herself that James Ignatius would 
never perish of starvation, at least. James 
Ignatius said nothing when he saw his gifts 
appropriated, and it goes without saying, 
neither did Dickie ! 

The good priest who attended him and 
gave him the last Sacraments had laid 
particular stress on the fact, that it was 
Holy Week, and when he gave him Holy 
Viaticum spoke touchingly afterwards of 
our dear Lord's sufferings on Good Friday 
— His agony on the cross, His sufferings 
for poor sinners, for those who never 
prayed, and who would not be benefited 
by His death! The words clung to the 
memory of James Ignatius. If he could 
fast from all food on Good Friday, and, unit- 



48 THE HAND OF MERCY 

ing with the suffering Saviour, ask Him, 
dying, to bless Dr. Storm for all his good- 
ness to a poor little boy that was crippled and 
of no use to any one! His generous soul 
sprang to the thought! He did not realize 
his weakness ; he did not know it would has- 
ten his death! The spirit of an apostle 
burned within him, and the single desire of 
saving the doctor's soul dominated his 
whole being. Hence when the glass of stim- 
ulant and milk was offered him every three 
hours he would simply say, "Put it down, 
nurse; I'll wait a minute," and when her 
back was turned he beckoned to Dickie, who 
swallowed it with one gulp. 

Weaker and weaker he grew — but was he 
not fasting like his dear Lord, to save a soul ? 
Dr. Storm came in several times that Good 
Friday morning, his heart torn at the pinched 
look of the sweet little boy-face. He could 
not understand the increasing weakness of 
James Ignatius, in spite of the constant stim- 
ulation. He spoke to the nurse, he saw the 
empty wine glass, but he never dreamed of 
questioning vacant-faced Dickie, who sat un- 
moved at the foot of the bed, in apparent pa- 
tience and devotion. 

Good Friday was passing. James Igna- 
tius had tasted nothing all day. Nature could 



"JAMES IGNATIUS' » 49 

hold out no longer, and at one o'clock it was 
apparent that the little fellow was in his 
agony. The priest came to his bedside and 
found Dr. Storm seated there, fingers on 
pulse, watching the life ebbing from the one 
creature who had found a way to his hungry 
heart. The big blue eyes of the dying boy, 
fixed on his friend's face, still held the love 
that animated him when he offered fasting 
and pain for the doctor's conversion. 

As the clock struck three the change came. 
The doctor did not stir, but he saw between 
the spasms the lips of James Ignatius move, 
and, stooping low, he caught the words, dis- 
jointed and trembling: 

1 i Dear — doctor — I f -f -asted for — your— 
soul — like Jesus — did on Good — Friday!" 

And then, with an expression of ineffable 
sweetness, the tortured body gave up its white 
soul, and paradise opened to poor, crippled 
James Ignatius! 

The doctor rose with a face as white as 
marble. He pressed the eyelids shut, laid 
the thin little hands on the breast and turned 
away. With an intuition that was almost like 
a revelation he saw the whole tragedy: 
James Ignatius had starved to death for his 
salvation. He turned to Dickie, who was 



50 THE HAND OF MERCY 

wailing loudly. One glance made the boy 
cower. 

"Did you take his medicine V 9 

"It was only milk and stuff !" wailed 
Dickie ; 6 6 and he gave it to me every time ! ' J 

"Well, you killed him — that's all!" said 
Dr. Storm in a voice of thunder, and strode 
out of the ward. 

He locked himself in his room. On his knees 
the great surgeon wept as few men weep, 
and registered a vow that the sacrifice of 
James Ignatius should have its recompense. 
The grandeur and beauty of the little crip- 
ple's soul, the wonder of his love, the great- 
ness of his Good Friday offering again and 
again overwhelmed him. He prayed with 
all his being, and as he prayed he felt the 
gentle spirit of the boy hovering near, bring- 
ing him strength and purpose: Dr. Storm 
arose a new man — a fervent Catholic Chris- 
tian ! 

# # # # # 

James Ignatius was buried with Solemn 
High Mass. The mourners were but two — 
poor, simple Dickie and Dr. Storm. 



A MOTHER'S MEMORY. 

"VTOT long after the beginning of my minis- 
-^ try — very many years ago, as you may 
suppose — I was visiting a brother priest in 
Baltimore. 

He asked me to help him in the confessional 
' during a busy season, and I consented. 

"Many of my people are negroes/' he 
said, "but I think you will not be sorry for 
that when you make friends with them in the 
box. ' ' 

"Negroes!" I said. "I have yet to dis- 
cover their fervor. They are very emo- 
tional. ' 9 

' ' Not overmuch ! " he replied. ' ' They love 
to sing — but so do the angels, for that mat- 
ter! Given fair instruction they are fine, 
reliable Catholics. I have no discount to 
make in comparing them with the whites. 
To be sure, they are a subject race, despised 
by many whites, often feared and detested. 
Others patronize them, spoil them, laugh at 
their foibles, and forget their striking quali- 
ties. But taken all in all they are good peo- 

51 



52 THE HAND OF MERCY 

pie, submissive, and, religiously considered, 
are the fairest prospect for our Catholic mis- 
sionary field, second to none ! ' ' 

So we chatted about the blacks and their 
spiritual and other traits until far into 
the night, incidentally comparing notes about 
their social and domestic qualities, and even 
those intellectual ones which cross their re- 
ligious state. 

The work in the confessional, always con- 
soling, was especially so with the negro-peni- 
tents that time. It seemed to me I had the 
"lion's share' ' of them! In fact, few others 
came to me. I revelled in their simplicity 
and sincerity, I was heartsick at the sidelights 
of misery that were revealed. 

One evening I had heard the last confes- 
sion, and was about to leave the box when, 
glancing between the curtains after my last 
penitent had gone, I saw a man rise in the 
middle of the church. He looked toward 
me, and doubtless noted that the last benches 
were empty for he left the pew, made a 
genuflection, and started toward me. 

Bending the knee was evidently new to 
him, for it was anything but rubrical, but I 
could not help noticing a peculiar grace in 
his reverence to the altar. I watched him. 
He was under the full glare of the large cen- 



A MOTHEK'S MEMORY 53 

tral chandelier as he stepped along the mid- 
dle aisle. I know a handsomely built man 
when I see one, and that negro, black as my 
cassock, was an ebony Apollo! Tall, well- 
knit, with a fine head and broad shoulders, 
the swing of his body was full of elasticity 
and grace, It seemed to me he was about 
twenty -five years old, becomingly and neatly 
but not stylishly clad. As he advanced, he 
kept his face turned toward my corner and 
I saw that his features were almost regular 
for a negro, and wore an expression that 
was grave almost to dignity. 

He halted squarely in front of me, for 
I had drawn back the curtains of my box, 
and looked at me with a half smile of ex- 
pectancy and reverence, as if wishing me to 
say the first word. 

"My son, do you want to go to confes- 
sion?" I said. 

"Most suttingly, suh, I do for a fac' suh, 
but I hardly know how to go 'bout it, suh." 

His voice was remarkably sweet and deep, 
his accent strongly African, but I will not 
venture to reproduce his dialect entirely, 
which I afterwards found was that of the 
Cotton Belt. 

I stepped out of the confessional, shook 
hands with my bashful penitent, and invited 



54 THE HAND OF MERCY 

him into the sacristy, for I saw he needed 
some instruction on the method of making his 
confession and no doubt on other points of 
our holy Faith. When I gave him a chair, and 
placed him at his ease by a few kindly words, 
I asked him to tell me all about himself. 

"My name," said he, in his soft Southern 
tones, "is Jefferson Stewart. I was born in 
the City of Baltimore. My mother was tali, 
very dark, and very strong. I was her only 
child. My father died before I knew him. 
My mammy often talked of him, and when 
she said her prayers, with me kneeling at her 
side, she always made me say, 'God rest my 
father's soul, Amen.' Three times I had to 
say that. And I can look back even to my 
third year and mind the tears trickling down 
her face: But suh" (I had quite a time 
making him call me "Father," he evidently 
thought it too familiar and hence disrespect- 
ful) "but, suh, I mean Father, many and 
many a time my good mammy took me to 
this very church, and brought me to that 
railing out there, and made me say over and 
over, out loud, my childish prayers, while 
she fixed her eyes on the altar and seemed 
to see God! Then when I stopped for want 
of something else to say, suh, she would 
turn to me and whisper: 'God is right heah, 



A MOTHER'S MEMORY 55 

Jefferson! He's a-lookin' from that little 
Doah down into youh little heart!' and I 
would tremble lest the good God saw some- 
thing there He didn't like. Again she would 
say. as we stood at the foot of this church: 
' Jefferson, chile, look around at dis grand 
House of God! In dis heah church yuh father 
and me was married, and heah you was 
baptized a little, po' baby! You was bap- 
tised a Cath'lic heah, a true Roman Cath'lic, 
and doan you nebber forget it, and, if any 
nasty Meth'dists or Baptists ask you to jine 
their 'ligion when you git growed up, tell 'em 
you are a Cath'lic, a Roman Cath'lic, and 
that's the only 'ligion that's God's.' " 

•w* *«• *3\* *n? •n? 

I suppressed a smile at the epithet my 
black man bestowed on our non-Catholic 
brethren, but he did not see me in his fervor. 
Then I asked him about his prayers — did he 
remember them? 

Yes! 

His mother (it was always his mother) 
taught them to him. And then, like a little 
child, this tall, fine fellow went on his knees 
and said the "Our Father," "Hail Mary" 
and "Creed," with numberless little mis- 
takes, which he repeated like a little boy 
when I corrected them. 



56 THE HAND OF MERCY 

I cannot forget his simple fervor and his 
intense religion. Then he sat down again. 

"My mammy, suh, was a free woman, 
Father, " he began, "and always carried in 
an oilcloth purse in her bosom a printed 
paper with her name on it, her free-papers 
as she called them. I have seen her show 
them to the constables who sometimes stopped 
her on the streets. 

' ' She had to work hard, and scrubbed and 
cleaned a number of offices. We lived with 
a colored Catholic family, in an alley full 
of our people. I often went with my mother 
when she was out working. One of her of- 
fices was along the waterfront, and one eve- 
ning while she was working at her sweeping 
she sent me for some sand to strew on the 
floor. It was a summer day, and I went over 
to a pile of sand that lay heaped up near the 
river. Mother knew the black man who 
watched there and told me he would give 
me some in a can. I got the sand, carried it 
to her, and ran back to talk to the man. 

"I found a black boy of my own age, and 
we began playing tag out on the long wharf 
where several schooners lay moored on the 
river. A man soon began loosening some 
ropes on one of the vessels and as we passed 
he called to us: He was a low-browed, evil- 



A MOTHER'S MEMORY 57 

looking man — a white man, of course. When 
he saw us he shouted : 

" 'Here, you youngsters, get aboard and 
help to haul this rope in, and I'll give you 
each a penny/ 

"We raced each other to see who should be 
first to take up his offer, and I thought how 
proud I should be to give my mother my first 
earnings that evening! So we jumped 
aboard, and were instantly caught up by 
two other fellows, carried down below, locked 
in a room, and told we would be killed if we 
made the least noise. We huddled together, 
shivering in speechless terror. Soon we 
heard the rushing back and forth of hurried 
feet overhead and felt the upward and down- 
ward motion of the boat. We were afloat and 
going, God knew where ! 

1 ' Oh, how we wept in that dark room ! Oh, 
how my heart broke to think of my mother, 
my poor, dear mammy, hunting for me, 
her lost boy, her only boy, never to see me 
again ! ' ' 

He stopped, overcome. The pathos in that 
negro's voice would have put to shame the 
tenderest, deepest feeling expressed by a 
cultivated white man, and I felt my heart 
swell in sympathy, for I knew he was telling 
the truth. He went on : 



58 THE HAND OF MERCY 

"Soon everything was quiet, and we poor 
little darkies put our arms around each other 
and wept ourselves asleep. When it was day- 
light we were taken on deck, given something 
to eat, and found ourselves sweeping out to 
the ocean. 

"We were taken to Charleston and there 
sold at auction to different planters. I re- 
member my purchaser before he bid for me 
thrusting his fingers into my mouth, bending 
all my joints, trying my eyes, my teeth, my 
hearing. One man bid a hundred and fifty 
dollars, but I was sold at last for two hundred 
and twenty-five dollars, and was delivered 
over to this buyer. I was now a slave! I 
did not dare resist, but went passively wher- 
ever I was told. 

"How lonely I was, living in the silent 
country with three hundred slaves, toiling 
from dawn to dark. How I pitied them with 
their strange ways, their poor cabins, their 
wild stories and their religion! How dif- 
ferent from Baltimore! And, oh, how I 
pined for my poor mother ! 

"I never saw her again. 

"Almost the first thing that happened was 
a dispute about me. The family I was sold 
to was half Methodist and half Baptist, the 



A MOTHER'S MEMORY 59 

father holding to the Methodists, the mother 
to the Baptists. 

"They argued hot and strong with each 
other to possess me for their religion. They 
quoted the Bible — lots of it. The bigger 
children laughed, but took neither side. Now 
I was a bold little darkey, and I waited for a 
lull in the dispute. I wanted my chance, for 
my dear mother's words were ringing in my 
ears. 

"At last there was a moment's quiet. I 
mustered up all my courage and stood in 
my bare feet and my little shirt and pants, 
my hands in my pockets, and called out: 
'The Methodists and Baptists are both 
nasty. I am a Roman Cath'lic, that's what 
I am! It's God's only true religion!' 

"When I got through, and before they got 
over their surprise I thought I had better 
say it again, because it didn't sound loud 
enough the first time. So I planted my feet 
firmly and fairly yelled out my good mammy's 
words. And, suh, I felt them deep down in 
my heart, and I would have said them if 
those people killed me, as indeed I thought 
they would! Not at all, suh. First they 
stared, and glared at me, but I stared back. 
Then two of the big girls giggled, and the 
children laughed, and after a while the old 



60 THE HAND OF MERCY 

folks laughed, and there was a shout all 
around. 

"They made me tell them all I knew. I 
said my prayers three times over during my 
story. I told them how I was stolen, and 
about my poor mother, and I think my mis- 
tress was kind-hearted, for she said: 'You 
poor little nigger, no one shall touch you ! ' 

"I never had any real trouble after that 
day about religion. The people were good 
enough to me — but I had hard work, and I 
often hankered after my mother, and never 
forgot my prayers. When they wanted me 
to go to camp meeting I said 'No' so fierce 
that they let me alone. You see, Father, it 
was my mother's words! She had stamped 
them on my heart, and although I knew not 
one thing about Cath'lies, I knew she was 
right, and anything different was wrong. 
So I stuck to my mother. When I was grown 
I took up with a fine girl, but she was so 
savage a Baptist that I quit her. I never 
saw a Cath'lic, never heard of any in reach. 
I have been a working man all my life, and 
always poor. 

"After the war I was free, so I went to a 
lighter in a little cotton port, and got a chance 
of working my passage to Baltimore. My 
whole heart was set on getting to Baltimore 



A MOTHER'S MEMORY 61 

and finding my mother. I got here a week ago, 
Father. I began to hunt for my mother, but ' ' 
(here his voice broke and his big chest 
heaved; he couldn't go on for a few moments) 
"everything is changed. I couldn't find any- 
thing as I remembered them in the docks, the 
streets, or the alleys. I found an old auntie 
who remembered my name when I told her. 
She took me by the two hands and looked 
up into my face while she cried: 'You? 
Jefferson Stewart! You? Yes, indeedy, I 
'members you' pooh mother, my child. Your 
mother broke her heart and died when she 
couldn't find you ! She pined and pined, and 
when the priest cum to her poor bed an gib 
herde Blessed Saviour, I was there, an' she 
turned to me and says: "Rachel, if ever you 
meet my poor boy on this earth, tell him his 
mother watches over him day and night" — 
and den that night she died! I don't know 
where they buried her, for it was the war 
times and such things was done in a hurry. ' 
"It was a hard blow, Father, a hard blow! 
I could only bow my head and take it. But 
then I thought I must get to the church my 
mother loved and be a good Cath'lic, for 
that's all I can do to please her. I had a 
lot of trouble finding this church. It is much 
changed, but here I am. When I saw you out 



62 THE HAND OF MEECY 

there in that box I wanted to speak to you, 
and ask you to help me to be a good Oath 'lie 
like my mother, so that I can see her some 

day in heaven. Will you help me, Father?" 

# # # * # 

Need I tell you my answer? My heart 
went out to that child-hearted, big, black 
man ! I saw how the grace of God had come 
to him through that poor, old, hard-working 
mother. Her teachings, her influence had 
guarded his life and shaped his pathway to 
me, and I gave him all I could of instruction 
and assistance day after day until I left him 
a true, fervent, practical Catholic! Where 
he is now I know not, but I firmly believe that 
his life is one that his mother in heaven is not 
ashamed of. 

Oh, Christian mothers of the present gen- 
eration, do you thus impress piety and faith 
on your children? 

Learn a lesson' from this lowly negro 
mother and her stalwart son: 




THE FAITHFUL FRIEND 



DURING THE NIGHT. 

TVfOT long ago, passing through an Eastern 
"^ city, I visited a priest of my acquaint- 
ance. I was asked to wait a little while, and 
as my business was not important, I picked 
up a book on the table of his study, and was 
soon absorbed in it. He entered the room 
shortly, and apologized for his delay, but I 
waived the apology, knowing that a priest is 
always busy in the service of the Master, and 
needs no excuse. I noticed, however, that he 
seemed pale and somewhat nervous, and 
remarked the fact, adding that it was Sun- 
day evening, and no doubt the day had been 
unusually strenuous, As for myself I was 
about to take the train for a distant city, 
and wanted to have a pleasant chat with my 
friend as I passed near his vicinity. I had 
two hours before train time. 

"You are right, Father Alexander," he 
said, "I have had a very strenuous day! It 
began at two o'clock this Sunday morning, 
and lasted straight along till Vespers this 
afternoon !" 

63 



64 THE HAND OF MERCY 

" Since two o'clock this morning ?" I 
echoed in surprise. 

"Yes. I'll tell you all about it. I think 
I ought to give you my experience — some 
good may be done by the recital.' ' 

"Do, Father," I said. "I really want to 
hear it." He settled back in his chair and 
began : 

"I was late in the confessional last night 
(we always are on Saturday nights, thank 
God), and I was pretty tired; my head was 
scarcely on the pillow before I fell sound 
asleep. It only seemed a minute or two, 
until the telephone, which is right at the 
head of my bed, woke me up with a furious 
ring. I stretched out my arm and caught the 
receiver. 

i l ' Hello ! ' was the call — ' are you Father 
So-and-So?' 

" i I am, ' was the reply; 

" 'Well, Father, this is the Municipal Hos- 
pital. We have a terribly sad case here, a 
fallen Catholic. She is going to die— and 
pretty soon — and the party who brought her 
told us she ought to see the priest. It's such 
a sad case we could not help calling you up, 
although the time of night is unearthly. She 
will not live much longer.' 

" 'Why didn't you call me earlier?' I said. 



DUEING THE NIGHT 65 

" ' Because she did not seem to be in dan- 
ger. She has taken a sudden turn, and the 
doctor says she will only last a few hours. 
Will you come, Father?' 

" 'Of course I'll come,' I said. I got into 
my clothes as fast as I could, took the holy 
oils, and went into the darkened church for 
the Blessed Sacrament, then started. 

"Well, Father, it was the darkest night of 
the season. I was a little uneasy as I went 
my lonely way, but I had a ' Companion, ' you 
know, hidden in my breast. I felt that I was 
about His business, and that He would pro- 
tect me. 

"I got to the hospital, where the lights 
were low and all was silence and as I passed 
the big hall clock it struck three! They 
knew me there. I had no need to speak, un- 
til I met the nurse who seemed to be waiting 
for me. She came over at once. 

" * Father,' she said, 'it is a case of acute 
scarlet fever. The girl cannot speak. She 
is an unfortunate; The elder woman who 
brought her here and paid for her liberally 
in advance said she was a Catholic. She also 
said that she often thought she suffered bit- 
ter remorse of conscience for her life. We 
did not think she was in danger until an 
hour ago.' 



66 THE HAND OF MEECY 

" 'Let me see her/ I said in a low voiee. 

' ' The nurse went ahead, stopping suddenly 
before the door of a room. 

" 'You must go in here, Father, and put 
on the gown we wear where there is con- 
tagion. Everything is ready. ' 

' ' I had been there before ; I divested myself 
of my coat, slipped on the white gown re- 
dolent of disinfectants, and putting my pyx 
case in the pocket of my breast and the stole 
around my neck, went out quickly. 

a i There,' said the nurse; 'number 49.' 

"I entered. The door was closed behind 
me. I saw a beautiful girl of about twenty- 
three, with long black hair tossed on the 
pillow. Her face was free from the eruption, 
but her throat and neck and arms were 
terribly inflamed. She opened her large 
brown eyes and scanned me as I approached 
her. 

"'My child, ' I said. 'I am a Catholic 
priest. I have come to help you to make your 
peace with God. See my stole!' and I lifted 
up the little violet stole I wore. As she recog- 
nized it a dreadful expression of horror 
passed over her face! She threw up her 
hands, a terrible sound came from her lips. 
She shook her head, and I saw that the demon 
of despair had possession of her. Oh, 



DURING THE NIGHT 67 

Father ! I determined that the devil of Judas 
should not have her ! 

"Inwardly calling on God's Mother, the 
pure Queen of heaven, I pleaded with the 
miserable creature. With all my heart I as- 
sured her of God's mercy — truly, if He had 
not intended to save her, He would not have 
sent me here. No use! She looked at me, 
and her great, terrified eyes had the agony 
of a lost soul — her lips uttering dreadful 
sounds that were not words ! But there was 
no softening of the awful lines of her face. 
At last she flung herself against the wall, 
turning her back to me. I was desperate. I 
seized her by the arms and turned her to- 
ward me. 

" i You shall not be damned,' I cried. 'It is 
God's will to save you. Listen, poor child. It 
will be so easy. I will make your confession. 
You will answer with your eyes, your head, 
your hands. It is the evil spirit who tempts 
you! Come! God and His sweet Mother 
Mary, our blessed Lady, will help you. This 
is the May time — don't you remember?' 

"I kept on in such words, with inward 
prayer all the time, until I saw the poor eyes 
soften. By degrees I felt that God's grace 
was winning the battle. 

"She made her confession, Father. It was 



68 THE HAND OF MEECY 

hard work for us both, but when I gave her 
absolution the peace that settled on those 
contorted features made my eyes moist and 
my throat swell. I anointed her. I did not 
give her Holy Communion — she could not 
swallow. But the rest the Lord's mercy al- 
most forced upon her! I had scarcely 
finished when I saw the awful gray shadow 
stealing over her face: I went to the door 
and called the nurse. She knelt down and I 
held the sacred pyx in my hand before the 
dying girl. She seemed to feel the presence 
of Jesus, for when the cold sweat was gather- 
ing on her forehead she opened her glazing 
eyes, and fixed them upon it. Her agony was 
terrible. 

"When the end came at last her face 
settled into a look of such peace that again 
that choking feeling came. I thought how 
near she had been to the awful Abyss ! 

" 'It is all over, Father,' whispered the 
nurse. 

"I made the sign of the cross over the 
lifeless body and left the room. It was more 
than an hour since I had entered, and the 
strain was telling on me; the perspiration 
was standing in great beads on my forehead, 
I was shaking all over. I stood a moment 
wiping my brow, and pulling myself to- 



DITKING THE NIGHT 69 

gether, when I heard the sound of suppressed 
sobbing in a room close by. The door was 
ajar, and I felt impelled to enter. I saw two 
small beds, and upon them were stretched 
the gasping forms of three little children: 
a boy of about seven, a girl of five, and a baby 
(I knew not the sex), apparently about three. 
Kneeling on the floor between them was the 
mother, evidently, and from her came broken 
sobs. 

"She felt my presence. Turning, she 
stretched out her arms in alarm over the 
little cots with an appealing gesture, like a 
mother-bird spreading wings of protection 
over a helpless nest of little ones, and looked 
at me with a startled gaze! When she saw 
over my white gown the stole which I had 
not removed, and the black guard which held 
my pyx case, a look of intense joy came into 
her face. 

" ' A priest of God ! ' she cried. * Oh thanks 
be to His holy Name ! 

■*' Father,' she said, turning to me still 
on her knees, with a transfigured look on 
her tear-stained face; 'God has sent you! 
They are all dying of diphtheria — all I have 
— my little babies ! These two are innocent, 
they will go in their baptismal robes! But 
my boy is seven ! Give him absolution ! He 



70 THE HAND OF MEECY 

lias been to confession at home, Father — lie 
is good, and lie knows right from wrong. 
Thank God ! I am satisfied now: I know all 
is right when the priest is here V 

" ' I will give the boy conditional absolution 
and anoint him,' I said — and I did so. Be- 
fore I finished, the two little ones had died, 
and before I left the room, the boy had passed 
away; The poor mother closed their eyes, 
whispering ' Thank God' amidst her tears, 
and the nurses led her away as I went to 
change my clothes. 

I was unnerved. The contrast between the 
two scenes was so great! There was that 
poor girl, God's mercy almost forced upon 
her, barely escaping an awful eternity. Here 
were those three innocent children, all the 
world to their heart-broken mother, and she 
was thanking God they were taken in their 
innocence ! How little we know of the ways 
of the mighty God! The mother knew the 
babies were better off. She was a Catholic 
Christian. God's will was her will! What 
a lesson! But the other death-bed! Once 
that girl was innocent, too. Perhaps some 
fervent prayers on her First Communion day 
— perhaps the pursuing pleadings of a heart- 
broken mother— perhaps the memory of the 
celebration of Our Lady's month — a hundred 



DURING THE NIGHT 71 

such seeming trifles had brought God's 
mercy to her erring soul ! The mercy of God. 
Oh! it has no bounds. None can sound its 
height — its depth! 

"When I got home after all this, I found 
it was nearly time for the six o'clock Mass. 
I said it, and tried to take a much needed 
rest. But those scenes were before me! I 
preached at the late Mass, and I made my 
sermon on my visit in the darkness of that 
early Sunday morning to the hospital. There 
was no need of other subject. I saw the peo- 
ple breathless in their attention. I saw then} 
wipe the tears away. I knew they under- 
stood. After Mass, the sacristy was thronged 
with them. 

" ' Father!' they whispered, 'that poor 
girl! Won't you say Mass for her soul!' 
and they pressed their offerings upon me. 
Twenty-five dollars they left on the sacristy 
table for Masses for her soul ! 

"I thought how the dew of the Holy Sac- 
rifice would penetrate her purgatory, and help 
her toward heaven, and I thought again of 
God's unspeakable love for His creatures! 
Oh! the love of God! the mercy of God! Is 
it not overwhelming?" 

He stopped. We were both silent*. There 
are moments of deep emotion that come into 



72 THE HAND OF MERCY 

our lives, when even an audible breath jars 
on the intensity! I arose as I glanced at 
my watch. I had barely time to make my 
train. I gave him my hand with an almost 
inaudible good-by, and we parted. But dur- 
ing the night as I lay in my berth, listening 
to the measured rhythm of the wheels on the 
steel tracks, the vivid narrative of my priestly 
friend came before me, and I saw in imagina- 
tion the two death-beds in which he was God's 
minister and the archangel of His mercy! 
And this was the lesson : Can we ever doubt 
the goodness of our blessed Lord, or His 
love for those whom He has redeemed and 
paid for with His precious blood ! 



THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT. 

GTRANGE stories are told by hospital 
*J chaplains of God's astounding mercy to 
poor sinners. Almost without apparent rea- 
sons, souls that seemed beyond redemption 
are saved before one's eyes. Miracles of 
grace are enacted that make one thrill with 
awe and reverence, and the love of Christ for 
His creatures becomes at times so manifest 
that we fall on our knees, almost frightened 
in presence of the supernatural. 

A brother priest, a friend of mine, is chap- 
lain in one of the most prominent hospitals 
in the country. He had been there for many 
years and was a striking figure as day by day 
he went around the various wards and private 
apartments, doing God's blessed work in his 
gentle persuasive way. His hair was snow- 
white, but his figure was erect and well-knit, 
his clerical dress faultless, and he was most 
impressive in his manner of offering prayers. 
Many a one, listening to his deep sonorous 
voice, devoutly and slowly enunciating every 
sacred word, went away with his petitions 

73 



74 THE HAND OF MEECY 

to God stamped on their souls — a help to 
their future perseverance. 

One day I visited him in his apartments. 
He seemed so pre-oecupied that I asked the 
cause. 

"Well, Father Alexander," he said, "I am 
standing silent, as it were, before a case of 
God's wonderful mercy today. 

"Downstairs, a man has been bed-ridden 
for some months. When he came to the hos- 
pital I tried to find out what religion he pro- 
fessed, or if he had any at all. He would 
not speak a word. He seemed impatient of 
my presence, and even turned away his head 
irritably when I went near him: After in- 
numerable attempts to awaken his interest, 
I gave up the task, begging the Sisters, who 
never fail to elicit some signs of gratitude 
or appreciation, to find out something about 
this silent patient. They were unsuccessful. 
Even to the doctors this man barely replied 
in monosyllables — and soon was left severely 
alone, although every effort was still made 
for his comfort and assistance. 

"Month after month passed by, but no 
impression was made on the poor fellow and 
at last his disease became so offensive that 
it was all one could do to stand for any 
length of time at his bedside. Again and 



THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT 75 

again lie was spoken to about his soul. He 
never gave an answer or made any comment, 
no matter how impressive his visitor might 
be. After a while only a few w r ords, or a 
prayer, with an aspiration, was said by those 
who could not bear to see him die without one 
word concerning his soul or the life to come. 

"Six months had passed unavailingiy, or 
so it appeared. The man seemed stolidly 
indifferent. Few had heard him speak. 
- "But this morning one of the nursing 
Sisters passed his room. Something im- 
pelled her to enter and give him a kindly 
greeting. Then she asked him if he wanted 
anything. 

" 'Yes,' he said very distinctly. 'May I 
have a drink of water?' 

" 'Certainly,' said the Sister. She at once 
went and returned with a glass of fresh 
water. 

"He thanked her, and while she raised his 
head and assisted him to drink, she ventured 
to say, as he tried to swallow a little: 'How 
refreshing that water seems to be to you! 
That is the way baptism is to an immortal 
soul! Of course you have been baptized.' 

" 'No,' said the sick man, 'I have never 
been baptized. I don't belong to any Church. 
If I did, I would belong to yours.' 



76 THE HAND OF MERCY 

" ' Would you wish to be baptized a Catho- 
lic V asked the Sister eagerly. 

" 'If I could I would/ he replied. 'No on§ 
ever asked me.' 

" 'Why, I thought you had been spoken 
to repeatedly about religion/ said the nun, 
amazed. 

" 'I didn't understand,' said he wearily. 

" 'But you understand now,' said she. ' You 
want to be baptized, so that you may reach 
heaven ! ' 

" 'Yes, that's what I want.' 

" 'Wait a minute,' said the Sister. She 
came quickly to my room and amazed me by 
telling me that No. 46 wanted to be baptized. 
I sprang to my feet, and stole in hand went 
to his room. 

"In an instant I saw the shadow of death 
on his face. 

" 'You want to be baptized, my son?' I 
said. 'You believe all the Holy Catholic 
Church teaches?' 

" 'I want to be baptized. I do believe, ■ 
came distinctly from his lips. 

"I seized the glass of water the Sister had 
brought him. It was nearly full. I poured 
it over his forehead, baptizing him in the 
name of the Father and of the Son and of the 
Holy Ghost! As I said, 'Thanks be to God,' 



THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT 77 

and turned to the Sister, who was beside me 
with a towel in her hana, she said: 'Look, 
Father V 

"I turned to the bed; the man was gasp- 
ing ! In one second he was dead ! ' ' 

"How long ago was that?" I asked. 

"Less than an hour. And now, Father 
Alexander, can you tell me how that man 
received the grace of the Sacrament of Bap- 
tism, or how was it that the Lord's mercy 
lingered about him, refusing, as it were, to 
leave him until his soul was saved? These 
are the endless questions I ask myself as I 
minister day by day to the countless cases 
that come into this great hospital. What are 
the hidden causes of all these marvels ?" 

We were both silent. At last he said : 

"Many wonders will be revealed at the 
Judgment Day ! But the greatest of all will 
be the mercy of God." 



THROUGH THE SACRED HEART. 

CHE was an old lady of seventy, a convert 
^ for many years. I had known her for a 
long time, and held her in high esteem for her 
virtue, piety and intellectual gifts. She had 
hosts of friends and was an unusual person- 
ality, carrying her years like a queen, and 
her stately figure, with its shapely head 
crowned with abundant snow-white hair, gave 
gracious evidence of her age. 

One day I said to her rather unexpectedly : 
"Madame Thirza, you have never told me 
the circumstances of your conversion. You 
know I am always on the lookout for mar- 
vels of grace .that might instruct and edify 
others. I know the world is full of them if 
we only looked about us. God's hand is not 
shortened, nor is His heart less loving as 
time rolls on. Do tell me what made you a 
Catholic." 

A faint blush overspread her venerable 
yet delicate features, and it seemed to me 
her eyes grew moist and tender. She said : 

78 



THROUGH THE SACRED HEART 79 

"You are right, Father Alexander. His 
heart never grows less loving: God was very 
good to me, and I will tell you all about it. 

"Fifty years ago I was a bride, a happy 
girl of twenty. My husband was a nominal 
Catholic and I was a strict Baptist. I don't 
know how we ever grew to be so fond of 
each other, but we were a most devoted 
couple until his death. My husband never 
spoke of religion, and at that time took such 
.matters very lightly. I was distressed at 
this, and after a while I ventured to take him 
to task for it, as he never went to church; I 
even tried to bring him over to my way of 
worshipping God. I wanted him to become 
a Baptist, a church member. He did not 
seem to understand me for a w^hile, but when 
it broke on him he gave a hearty laugh in 
the most disconcerting manner, and, taking 
both my hands in his, he looked me straight 
in the face and said: 

" 'Why, little girl, don't you know it is 
as impossible for a Catholic to change his 
faith and be sincere as it is for him to change 
his color? There is only one true faith, little 
wife, as there is only one sun, and although 
I am a bad Catholic (God forgive me!), I 
never could be of any other religion. ' 

"These words made a deep impression on 



80 THE HAND OF MERCY 

me. If there were only one true faith, was I 
quite sure it was my faith? My husband, 
careless and easy as he was, had the most 
profound conviction that the Catholic religion 
was the only real religion. If he were right 
(and I never knew him to make a mistake in 
matters of thought or intelligence), why 
should I not try at least to find out some- 
thing about that religion, and if there were 
flaws in it, which would be very apparent to 
a disinterested party (so I thought in my 
ignorance), I could argue a little about it. 

"I was really in earnest, and being of a 
religious turn of mind, and very anxious to 
convert my husband, I determined to go into 
the enemy's camp and look around for myself. 
I was trembling at the thought of meeting 
the i Scarlet Woman of Popery/ but I loved 
my husband dearly and hoped I was striving 
for his soul. 

"My husband was a traveling man, and 
often was absent for two or three months 
at a time. This was hard for us both, but 
we consoled ourselves with the hope of better 
things ere long, and as he wrote me every 
few days without fail, and told me where to 
address my letters, looking for the mail be- 
came my most engrossing occupation. Un- 
til, one night, I had a strange dream. 



THEOUGH THE SACEED HEAET 81 

"My husband had been away two weeks, 
and I received his letters regularly. In the 
last he wrote some closing phrase which told 
me that his faith, though crusted over by the 
distractions of the world, was still there, un- 
dying and strong. All day I thought of his 
words. I forgot what they were exactly, 
but that night I had a strange dream. 

"I seemed to be wandering alone in a 
dark cavern. I touched the rocks on either 
side; they were cold and rough. The pas- 
sage was narrow, the path was uneven. I 
was continually stumbling. I walked on 
blindly, getting more and more weary at 
every step, wondering when I would reach 
the end. I had some vague idea it was my 
soul's destiny, and that I was going through 
earth's pilgrimage to God, but the cavern 
seemed interminable ; my hands were sore and 
bleeding from the rough walls of rock I was 
obliged to feel on each side in the darkness, 
and my feet were aching and burning. 

"Suddenly the thought flashed through 
my tired brain: 'Am I on the right road?' 
I seemed to have set out bravely, fully con- 
vinced I would reach my destination, but now 
I was almost exhausted. In my dream I fell 
on my knees with my arms outstretched and 
prayed aloud: 'Oh Lord, give me light to 



82 THE HAND OF MERCY j 

know the right path ! ' Suddenly a great 
brilliancy suffused the far distance. I saw a 
cross in the midst of it, and beneath it as it 
were on some high mountain, a noble edifice. 
Standing in front of it was a glorious and 
beautiful Figure, with eyes that pierced my 
very soul. One hand pointed to His breast, 
which seemed to be a quivering mass of liv- 
ing light; the other hand pointed to the cross- 
crowned edifice. I tried to spring forward, 
but fell on my face and awoke. 

"I need not tell you the impression that 
dream had on me. I was not in the least 
superstitious, nor, as a usual thing, bothered 
by the foolish vagaries of sleep; but I was 
haunted day and night by the vivid picture 
that was revealed to me as I knelt with out- 
stretched arms in that dark cave and cried to 
the Saviour for light. I did not dare to tell 
that dream to any one. It seemed too sacred 
to gossip about. I would not tell my minister, 
and I could not write it to my husband. 

"One day I was shopping, and passed the 
door of a Catholic church. It was in the 
heart of the busy city — the only Catholic 
church of prominence in the district. It is 
now torn down, but even when I pass the 
site I bow my head. I glanced at the open 
doorway, and with a guilty feeling I entered. 



THROUGH THE SACRED HEART 83 

It was a vast aisle of gloom. The Gothic 
arches lost themselves in vagueness, the altar 
looked far, far away, and the church seemed 
deserted save for a few bowed forms that 
did not pay the slightest attention to any- 
thing around them. I advanced half-way up 
the aisle and stood doubting and trembling. 
I had never been in such a place before. I 
was drawn onward by an invisible force. I 
saw a crimson star flickering, trembling in 
space. I followed it, and stood beneath it. 
I found it was a richly decorated lamp sus- 
pended from the roof. I looked around, half 
frightened at my temerity. I was standing 
before a long, low railing that extended across 
the church. Suddenly a figure robed in black, 
with a peculiar square cap, came from a door 
within the railed space. He raised his cap 
as he knelt before what I now know is the 
altar. I stood terrified lest he should recog- 
nize me as an intruder and order me out of 
the place. I felt I deserved it. 

"But he arose, and, coming to the railing, 
courteously asked me in a low voice if he 
could serve me in any way. I think my 
embarrassment told him I was an outsider, 
for when I answered hesitatingly, he asked 
me if I would not come to the house. I 
dared not refuse, but followed him bewil- 



84 THE HAND OF MERCY 

dered, and only recovered breath when I was 
ushered into a neatly-furnished little parlor, 
where I was courteously handed a chair. 
The priest had asked no questions, and now 
looked at me benevolently, waiting for me 
to speak. I hardly know how it happened, 
but I raised my eyes and saw on the w r all 
a picture of the Saviour with one hand on 
His breast, the other extended. My dream 
rose up before me, and I cried out to the 
priest, pointing to the picture: 'Oh, sir, 
what does that mean?' 

"In a few words he explained the mean- 
ing of the Sacred Heart. I told him my 
dream. My heart was unlocked. I gave 
voice to all my doubts, all my desire to ex- 
plain away my husband's faith, and, in fact, 
made an entire confession of everything that 
was in my heart and on my mind, ending 
with the unaccountable impulse to enter the 
church as I passed that day. He listened 
patiently and gravely. 

" 'I knew you were not a Catholic when 
first I saw you, my child,' he said, 'and I 
cannot but believe that God has special de- 
signs for you. We won't discuss that to- 
day — but, since you are so anxious to con- 
vert your husband, I will give you a book to 
read — a book that will tell you everything 



THEOUGH THE SACRED HEART 85 

that Catholics believe, and, in fact, their 
whole religion. It won't take you long to 
read it. If you desire any explanations I 
am nearly always at home in the afternoons, 
and I place myself at your service/ 

"Saying this, he arose and took a small 
paper volume from a bookcase and handed 
it to me. It was a i Little Catechism.' I 
thanked him as I rose to depart, gave him 
my address, and left his house w T ith such a 
feeling of peace and serenity that I felt 
like singing aloud for joy; I had no wish 
to become a Catholic. I was only delighted 
to think I had actually spoken to a minister 
of my husband's religion and he did not de- 
nounce my desire to convert him. 

"When I went home I took the first op- 
portunity to read the little book. I was 
amazed at its simplicity and reasonableness, 
and then at its tone of conviction, at its 
clear decision, at its self-evident statements 
— facts that only needed thought and un- 
prejudiced judgment to affirm their cer- 
tainty. I finished the little book at one sit- 
ting. Again I read it, and it was not long 
before I had to yield to its truth. 

"The days passed. My husband's letters 
came regularly. Everything went on as 
usual, but within my soul it was as if a new 



86 THE HAND OF MERCY 

world had burst upon my vision. When my 
husband returned for a two-weeks' rest, he 
noticed a change, an unaccountable some- 
thing, but I was determined to hold my 
peace until I could tell him all. 

"Six months went by; my husband had 
gone again, and in the meantime I had 
visited my friend, the good priest, and was 
being instructed in the faith. I will not tire 
you, Father Alexander, by going into fur- 
ther details, but the next time my husband 
came home I asked him to take a walk one 
evening. We went, to his astonishment, to 
the rectory, where my good father and in- 
structor was waiting, and while my husband 
stood dumb in surprise he announced that 
I was to be baptized conditionally next day ; 
that I was to make my First Holy Commu- 
nion the following Sunday. And then I said 
to my husband: 

" 'Will you not come with me!' 
"He was overcome, but before we left the 
house he had promised. He kept his prom- 
ise. We received Holy Communion to- 
gether, and until his death he never failed 
in the practice of his religion. He died like 
a saint, after a long, weary illness. A nun, 
the teacher of my children, knelt at his bed- 
side saying the prayers for his departing 



THROUGH THE SACRED HEART 87 

soul, and when he passed away she closed 
his eyes and said to us as we wept there : 
" 'Do not sorrow; he is with God.' 
"That was many years ago, Father, but 
my faith has never faltered; my dream has 
been realized; I found the light through the 
love of the Sacred Heart.' ' 



ZULIEMA. 

A True Story of Darkest Africa. 

T T WAS an unusually pleasant day in tlie 
-*■ island of Zanzibar, and one of the young 
officers of the British Army, in garrison on 
the coast, determined to get a boat, sail to 
the mainland, and spend the day hunting. 
He got his guns together, and employed one 
of the natives to row him across. 

Cautiously they entered the bush. They 
had not proceeded far when they heard 
through the gloom of the tropical foliage the 
unmistakable growling and yelping of jackals 
and hyenas. The officer caught the yellow 
sheen of their round, vicious eyes, and fired 
several times. They heard the patter of 
swift flying feet and the yelps dying away in 
the distance, before he and his native ven- 
tured to push on. 

When they penetrated a little farther into 
the bush they found several of the animals 
dead, and one or two disabled. But to their 
amazement, they saw that there was a rough 



ZULIEMA 89 

canvas sack in the midst of the dead wild 
beasts. It was tied securely at one end, and 
evidently had been dragged out of the earth, 
which was excavated for a foot or two, as if 
intended for a grave. The sack seemed to 
move. The officer, cutting the string from the 
end, disclosed the warm body of a young 
child, a girl of about eleven or twelve years 
old. It was doubled up in the sack like so 
much carrion. When the air touched the 
body, especially the face, convulsive twitch- 
ing showed that life was still present. The 
officer and the native tried to restore con- 
sciousness, and were rewarded by seeing the 
girl's eyes open, look at them wonderingly, 
and then close. The little form was so 
emaciated that it was barely skin and bone, 
and utterly helpless. The officer could get 
little satisfaction from the native, and stood 
bewildered, not knowing what to do. Sud- 
denly a sweet-toned bell pealed in the dis- 
tance, and the native said the sound came 
from the house of the Sisters who took care 
of poor children. The information was an 
immense relief to the officer, who ordered 
the native to take up the little black skeleton 
in his arms, and they made their way toward 
the sound of the bell, which was still pealing 
the mid-day Angelus, 



90 THE HAND OF MEECY 

It was Christmas Eve, and the convent 
was in a state of preparation for the mid- 
night Mass. The little black children were 
in great excitement, carrying articles to the 
chapel, and cleaning up the various living 
rooms, while the nuns in their dark habits 
and white veils were superintending affairs 
in all directions. That night the class of good 
children who had been under probation for 
a year, and had been thoroughly instructed 
in the Catholic Faith, were to be baptized, 
and then they were to begin their prepara- 
tion for the reception of the other Sacra- 
ments. The devoted women who had given 
up home and associations most precious to 
Catholic hearts, and had come into these 
wild, equatorial regions for the love of 
souls, enduring all sorts of terrible hard- 
ships to win the African children to Christ, 
had established there a sort of orphanage 
and school. They received with open arms 
the wretched creature that was brought to 
them. The young officer was astonished that 
no questions were asked, no fee mentioned; 
and he was filled with admiration and rever- 
ence for the good Sisters who showed such 
beautiful, unselfish charity. 

When he told the story of the finding of 
the sack in the open grave dug up by wild 



ZULIEMA 91 

beasts, the Sisters explained to him that no 
doubt a caravan of slave dealers had found 
this child unable to continue the journey 
with the rest of their captives, and, as the 
British Government very stringently pun- 
ished those who killed the natives, they must 
have been afraid to murder the poor girl 
outright. So they buried her alive, trust- 
ing to the wild beasts to dig up the shallow 
grave, and devour the living, half -conscious 
body. This would have been the case but for 
the timely arrival of the officer. 

He finally took his departure, much im- 
pressed with all he had seen and heard. 

The little girl was bathed, fed, and put 
to bed, with one of the nuns watching over 
her. When she revived, nourishment was 
carefully administered, until she was able 
to speak. Her dialect, however, was unin- 
telligible to the Sisters. They realized that 
she must have come from a great distance, 
and trusted to the natural quickness of some 
of the natives in grasping the different lan- 
guages and dialects to interpret her account 
of herself when she had become better. 

In the meantime the preparations for mid- 
night Mass continued. As the hour neared, 
the child fell into a sound sleep, and the Sis- 
ter seeing this, left her to go to the little 



92 THE HAND OF MEECY 

chapel for Mass, The simple altar was dec- 
orated with great care, and the children to 
be baptized were clothed in white, with white 
veils on their heads. 

Mass had begun; The sound of the little 
organ and the hymns of the children awoke 
the stranger. She started up, and clothed 
in her night-gown made her way to the place 
whence the sounds came. Trembling, she 
gazed in wondering awe from behind a ped- 
estal on which was St. Joseph's statue. Her 
quick eye took in all the beauty: the lighted 
candles, the green leaves, the flowers, the 
vested priest, the Sisters, the white-robed 
children black like herself! It was a vision 
of heaven to her untaught soul. She fainted 
away in rapture, and there they found her 
on the floor, and carried her back to bed. 

She soon recovered, and was able to be 
about. Clothed in the simple garments of 
the black children she watched and listened, 
and her worship of the nun who took care 
of her was most touching. She followed Sis- 
ter Frances like a dog, scarcely uttering a 
sound, but her large, expressive eyes told 
the story of her gratitude. 

Ere long the nuns were surprised to hear 
her utter words and sentences in the dialect 
they used, and before many weeks she could 



ZULIEMA 93 

make herself understood. She responded 
to every word that was said. She was a 
most attractive child. Her features were 
pleasant, her skin deep olive, her teeth even, 
and her smile charming. Her hair was rather 
straight, and her figure now rounding out, 
was erect and full of grace. Evidently she 
was of a better class than those around her. 

At last she told her story to Sister 
Frances. She was the daughter of a princess: 
• Her mother and father ruled one of the 
tribes in the interior, some eight hundred 
miles away, and they were all happy until 
a band of wretches attacked their little set- 
tlement in search of slaves. The men of the 
tribe, headed by her father, had gone far 
off into the bush that day to slay a man- 
eating lion that had killed several of their 
number, and on their return they were sur- 
prised by the men of the caravan, who fell 
upon them and slew them before the eyes of 
their weeping wives and children. Then they 
selected the finest looking of the women and 
children, tied them together, and drove them 
like cattle ahead of the caravan through the 
wilderness, toward a port where they would 
be sold into slavery. 

The sufferings of these poor creatures 
were indescribable. Zuliema said that her 



94 THE HAND OF MERCY 

mother refused to eat, and tried to bear up 
stoically. She was of finer physique than 
some of the others, and held out longer. 
Corpses of the dead strewed the way as they 
passed. But there is a limit to all human 
endurance, and at last the princess ' fine 
frame yielded to the awful privations of the 
terrible journey. She grew weaker day by 
day. Her dragging steps retarded the Arabs, 
who finally determined to kill her. The 
brutal wretch who claimed her and Zuliema 
for his share of the slaves, seeing one morn- 
ing that she was unable to walk another step, 
took the butt end of his gun, and beat her 
brains out before the eyes of her shrinking, 
terrified child. Zuliema gazed like a fasci-; 
nated bird on the dying face of her mother, 
and then fastened her bitter look on the mur- 
derer as if she would burn him with the 
intensity of her hate. For a moment the 
man shrank, but ordering the body of the 
princess to be thrown to the vultures, he 
placed the weak, starving child on one of the 
camels, determined to get rid of her at the 
first opportunity, as she was too emaciated 
to sell. They were nearing the British gar- 
risons, so he did not dare kill her. The very 
next day he tied her naked in a sack, hur- 
riedly dug a two-foot grave, and spread the 



ZULIEMA 95 

earth loosely above it, trusting to the jackals 
and hyenas to do the rest. The caravan was 
hardly out of sight when the officer who had 
come for a day's hunting shot the wild beasts 
and found the sack. 

It was a fortunate rescue for the little 
princess: The days passed happily. The 
scene she witnessed that Christmas night, 
her first glimpse of the convent chapel, re- 
mained like a vision of paradise. As the 
.truths of Faith were unfolded to her bright 
mind she longed for baptism. But the good 
Sister Frances, knowing how deeply rooted 
is savagery in the African nature, kept her 
under instruction and surveillance for a whole 
year, until the next Christmas came around. 

Zuliema was an unusual child. She bore 
herself proudly, as became a princess. She 
developed an early maturity, and she com- 
manded the respectful homage of the other 
children — all unconsciously. Orphan though 
she was, and hundreds of miles away from 
her people, she adapted herself to her sur- 
roundings, became happy with the good Sis- 
ters, and a valuable help in all the works of 

the mission. 

# # # # # 

Very early one morning, two days before 
Christmas, when the Sisters were praying 



96 THE HAND OF MERCY 

in the chapel, a great noise and tramping 
of feet were heard without. Horses were 
neighing, and men were calling. There were 
cries of distress mingled with those of com- 
mand, and loud knocking was heard. It was 
soon explained. Not far away there had 
been a skirmish between some robber- Arabs 
and the British soldiers. Humanity obliged 
them to bring the wounded to the shelter 
of the convent, where it was known that the 
Sisters had medical and surgical skill, and 
never refused aid to the suffering. Several 
men were carried in, and were placed on cots 
in the school house. The Sisters busied 
themselves with washing the wounds, and 
binding them up with lint and linen. Al- 
though they knew these men were robbers 
and murderers, they knew also that they 
were made in the image of Christ, and had 
a claim on His servants, to whom all races 
and colors were alike. The English soldiers 
departed full of admiration for the Sisters. 
Not one of their number was hurt; 

Sister Frances became busy as the day- 
light advanced, and she called Zuliema, one of 
her best aids, to bring water, sponges, and 
linen to dress the wounds of the man who 
was, apparently, the worst injured of the 
party. 



ZULIEMA 97 

Zuliema obeyed. But as she gazed on the 
countenance of the wounded Arab, she gave 
a fierce, smothered cry like that of a 
wounded animal. Sister Frances saw with 
horror that her face became distorted, her 
eyes flashed fire, her breast heaved. All the 
savage in Zuliema ? s nature came back. With 
a spring she flew at the man, and with both 
hands clutched his throat in an attempt to 
strangle him. 

The Sister seized her wrists, and tried to 
quell her passion with a stern look. 

Zuliema hesitated. 

"He killed my mother !" she cried then. 
"He beat in her face and head, and laughed 
at her cries ! He kicked her when she died, 
and kept on kicking her ! He threw her body 
to the big birds with raw necks, and they ate 
her while she was yet alive! My mother! 
My poor mother!" 

Sister Frances shuddered. She knew it 
was true. But she held Zuliema 's wrists, 
and said in a voice deep with feeling and 
power : 

"Zuliema is a Christian now. Zuliema 
wants to be baptized. Christ forgave His 
enemies on the cross. Zuliema must forgive 
her enemy.' ' 



98 THE HAND OF MERCY 

The savage fire in the girl's blood burned 
in her cheek, and flashed from her eyes. 

"He killed my mother I" she said. 

Sister Frances, with strong hands, kept 
fast hold of her wrists. The wounded man 
opened his eyes, and the terror in them 
showed that he recognized her and had 
heard enough: Sister Frances forced the girl 
before her until the door was reached, then 
gently pushed her outside, saying: 

"Zuliema will not be baptized this Christ- 
mas." 

The door closed. The poor girl fled to the 
chapel, there to ponder over her outburst 
of revengeful rage, and cry out at last in 
deep contrition her prayer to Jesus Cru- 
cified. 

The day passed on. Another of the girls 
helped Sister Frances with the wounded. 
The next morning several of them were 
ready to depart to their people, but the mur- 
derer of Zuliema 's mother lay suffering. 
Sister Frances avoided Zuliema, feeling sure 
that the impulsive girl was fighting her sav- 
age nature, and that grace would conquer. 

The second day before Christmas Zuliema 
came, downcast and humble, and threw her- 
self at Sister Frances ' feet. Her heart was 
breaking at the thought of not being bap- 



ZULIEMA 99 

tized. Must she wait another long year? 
No! She had struggled and struggled to 
forgive her enemy, and, with God's grace, 
she had succeeded. 

Sister Frances knew what an admission 
that was: Long experience with the natives 
had made her know that these savage people 
never forgive. Christianity appeals to them 
in a thousand ways — they yield to its sweet, 
persuasive doctrines until the meaning of 
forgiveness is explained to them, and here- 
in is their stumbling block. 

For a savage to forgive his enemies, to 
cease pursuing them until an eye is taken 
for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a 
life, is cowardice — contemptible weakness. 
Sister Frances knew this, and knew that a 
princess of the savage blood had fought her 
nature long and valiantly before she could 
make this avowal. 

"My child," she said, "if God has given 
you the grace to forgive your enemy, and 
you want to be baptized on Christmas Eve, 
I will give you entire charge of him. I will 
see how sincere you are, Zuliema, and if 
you are faithful to grace, you may win his 
soul also. Now go and dress his wounds 
and pray God that you do not fail." 

Zuliema shuddered: Then, making the 



100 THE HAND OF MEECY 

sign of the cross, she went to the room where 
her enemy lay. He cried out with terror 
when he saw her, for he knew that the cus- 
tom of the people demanded his death. But 
she came in quietly with her sponges and 
basin, and when he shrank away she told 
him not to fear, that she was no longer his 
enemy. Even then he was not sure ; but her 
deft fingers removed the bandages tenderly, 
the cooling sponges allayed his fever, and 
the fresh bandages soothed his aching 
wounds. 

Zuliema did not speak much. Her thoughts 
worked with God's grace, and each moment 
a fresh blessing seemed to help her. Over 
and over again that day she relieved the 
sufferer. When Christmas Eve came Sister 
Frances saw that grace had indeed achieved 
a complete victory, and told her she would be 
baptized. 

Joy filled the girl's heart. The white dress 
and veil that had been taken away from her 
were restored, and she was clothed in them, 
with her companions. The chapel was decked 
in all the beauty and light that she had seen 
a year before when it broke on her enraptured 
vision like a glimpse of paradise. 

The midnight Mass was over, and the 
young catechumens were baptized. Zuliema 's 



ZULIEMA 101 

soul became as white as snow, a living temple 
of grace. When all was over, she went to 
the side of her enemy, and ministered to him 
with such a beauty glowing in her eye and on 
her cheek that he ventured to speak to her, 
and ask her the reason. 

This young apostle told him her joy, ex- 
plained to him the Faith, and, knowing he 
was going to die, never ceased her efforts 
until he, too, asked for baptism, and was 
made a Christian and heir to God's kingdom. 

He died soon after. Zuliema knelt at the 
bedside of her mother's murderer, praying 
for him, wiping the death-sweat from his 
brow, and giving him her own little crucifix 
to kiss. Such was the miracle grace had 
wrought*. 

After the Arab's death, Zuliema resumed 
her duties and in due time made her first holy 
Communion. Then the Sisters, knowing the 
customs of the natives, and that she was of 
age, spoke to her of marriage. She shook 
her head : 

"My God does not want me to marry,' ' 
she said. 

The Sisters were surprised. It was never 
heard of that the young girls of their mission 
refused an eligible husband, and the ^VTiite 
Fathers always saw to it that such should be 



102 THE HAND OF MERCY 

provided for their young converts. But they 
said nothing, and Zuliema went about her 
work unhindered. 

Some months afterwards the White 
Fathers (as the missionaries of the congre- 
gation of the Holy Ghost are there called) 
came that way with their Bishop. The latter 
was a distinguished man of God, and full of 
zeal for the African missions. In speaking 
to the Sisters, he told them he had it in mind 
for a long time to gather some of the native 
girls, and found a congregation of black 
Sisters, who would do immense good work 
for their people. He had met some incipient 
vocations, but no one yet who could act as a 
leader. He needed a foundress whose quali- 
ties of mind and heart, and whose bearing 
would command respect, whose virtues would 
urge her companions to heroic deeds of love 
for the benighted Africans. 

Sister Frances told the story of Zuliema. 
Of her heroic struggle with her native pre- 
judices, of her refusal to marry, of her 
princely blood, and of her unusual virtues. 
She was brought to his lordship, the Bishop. 
Instantly he recognized the helper he had 
sought for — the foundress of his new Order. 

To Zuliema it was the crown of her hopes. 
She knew that the Sisters never had seen 



ZULIEMA 103 

their way to receive any of the native girls 
into their Order, and she never heard of a 
society of negro nuns. So she wept for joy 
at the Bishop's feet, and readily acquiesced 
in all his plans. 

The Bishop organized the Congregation of 
native nuns, made Zuliema the Mother Su- 
perior, and soon she had around her a com- 
munity of negro novices, full of fervor and 
zeal. They taught the African children, pre- 
pared them for the Sacraments, and in their 
humble convent gave forth the education and 
good example they had received from the 
English Sisters who came from distant 
Europe. 

As far as we know this African princess 
still lives. And we ask our readers to pray 
that in the far-off Dark Continent she may 
continue for years to come to work for God's 
glory, and the good of her people. 



AN IMPORTANT SCIENCE. 

Xp LAMING posters were visible all over 
t** the little town. At the corners small boys 
with bags strung across their shoulders were 
thrusting big-lettered dodgers into the un- 
willing hands of the passers-by. Some looked 
at them curiously and put them in their 
pockets ; some flung them into the gutter af- 
ter tearing them to shreds. 

"Escaped Nun Will Give a Lecture ! Hor- 
rors of Convents Told ! ' ' 

Such was the purport of the posters and 
dodgers that flooded the little borough of 
McK one autumn day in the year 19 — . 

Many of the townsfolk were disgusted, but 
many more, through curiosity, went to the 
lecture and listened to the fraud in woman's 
clothes, who dared to utter the nameless false- 
hoods that over and over again have been 
relegated to the dwelling of the father of lies. 
In the audience was a curious married 
woman, who had been persuaded by a friend 
to hear what the creature would say. It would 
pass an evening, anyway, as amusements in 

104 



AN IMPOETANT SCIENCE 105 

the place were rare. She listened, aghast and 
open-mouthed, to the lecture, and, of course, 
brought home one of the slanderous pam- 
phlets always on sale at such gatherings. 

Next day the so-called "escaped nun" had 
vanished, but the husband of the woman, 
hearing his wife speak with horror of the 
Catholic Church, took the pamphlet and read 
it as far as his disgust permitted. Flinging 
it down, he cried out : 

"It's all a darned lie — a base lie!" 

"How do you know?" demanded his wife. 

"Know? I know this. In our mill I have 
worked for years beside a man, a Catholic 
Irishman. I know him intimately. He is 
clean, honest, industrious, upright. I know 
all his opinions, and I know if he thought the 
Catholic Church was like this filthy trash he 
would not stay in it one hour. He hasn't a 
great amount of education, but he has a lot 
of keen common sense; he has good ability, 
and is a sober, pure, religious man. I tell 
you I have watched him all day long for 
years, and I know it ! If the Eoman Catholic 
Church was what is represented here, he 
would not hesitate a minute to stand up and 
denounce it, aye, and leave it instantly. 
That's what I know," said the excited man. 

"Perhaps," argued his wife, "he does not 



106 THE HAND OF MERCY 

know all the inside work in his Church. You 
know the priests are very clever, and it is 
their business to keep the people in ig- 
norance, " 

" Well, they would not keep me in ignorance 
long!" thundered her husband. "I'd get it 
out of them! And now I think I'll try it. 
I'll go to that Catholic priest and take him un- 
awares, and if he and the Irishman are right, 
I'll give in to them. Where does that priest 
live? 5 * 

"Good gracious," said the wife, "you 
wouldn't speak to a Popish priest?" 

"That's just w T hat I'm going to do," said 
her husband. "I don't believe a word that 
she-devil said, and no decent people would 
believe her book. I am going to headquarters 
to find out a few things for myself. I can 
soon see where they pull the wool over your 
eyes." 



a- 



'Do think about it first. Be careful," said 
the wife, regretfully, knowing by experience 
that arguing with her spouse was a fruitless 
effort. "People will think you are turning 
Catholic if they see you." 

"People be hanged! Let them think what 
they please. I believe in a square deal and 
I'll bet on my Irishman every time," he 
finished, smiling grimly. 



AN IMPORTANT SCIENCE 107 

So he went that night to the rectory of the 
Catholic priest. He told the priest the cir- 
cumstances of the morning, of his argument 
with his wife, of his disgust with the "es- 
caped nun" pamphlet, and of his friend the 
Irishman in the mill. On mentioning his 
name the priest smiled and said : "I know that 
man." 

"His example has taught me more than 
twenty sermons could have done, sir." 

"He is just a consistent Catholic," re- 
turned the priest. "But I am glad to see 
you. I will answer every question, and will put 
all the information you wish in your hands. 
There is no inside track in the Catholic 
Church. Priest and people are bound by the 
same laws. They are an open book to all, 
and no effort is made to keep the people in 
ignorance. Suppose you come to my office? 
There are two good men there now who visit 
me regularly in the evening for the purpose 
of being instructed preparatory to their ad- 
mission to the Catholic Church." 

"But," quickly said the visitor, "you must 
not misunderstand me — I have not the slight- 
est desire or intention of becoming a Roman 
Catholic. Nothing would induce me to be one. 
I am simply a lover of truth, and I want to 



108 THE HAND OF MEBCY 

know if those things I mentioned are false, 
and if my friend at the mill is deluded? ' 

"Just as you say," said the priest. "It 
is not at all necessary for you to come, but 
I thought you might take a seat and listen to 
their questions being answered for this eve- 
ning: Afterwards we could talk it over. You 
see, I have an appointment with them just 
at this time." 

"That is another side of the matter," said, 
his visitor. ' i I have no objections to listening 
to them. Perhaps they have the same ques- 
tions to ask that I have, and I don't forget 
that I am asking a favor. I will go with you, 
sir, for this evening. ' ' 

The priest led the way to a smaller room, 
where two men were seated at a little table. 
The priest gave a kindly nod to them, handed 
a chair to the visitor, and, going to the table, 
sat down with the two men. In a short time 
all three became oblivious of the stranger, 
who, however, had become extremely in- 
terested in the instructions of the priest, and 
listened to every word. After about an hour 
the priest arose and dismissed the two men. 

"Now, sir," he said pleasantly, "let us 
have our little talk. ' ' 

1 ' Not to-night ; Father, ' ' said the man, i i I 
have heard enough to think about for a while. 



AN IMPOETANT SCIENCE 109 

I will thank you if you will allow me to come 
back the evening you appointed for those two 
men, and if you will also allow me to put 
some questions and join in their contro- 
versy. ' ' 

"With the greatest pleasure," returned 
the priest. "I was going to suggest that 
very thing. ' J 

"I wish you would let me buy one of those 
little pamphlets," he said, pointing to a pile 
" of catechisms on the table near by. 

"Please accept one," said the Father. "I 
would not think of selling you a catechism. 
This is the first book of information about 
the Catholic Church — although you say you 
never intend to be a Catholic. ' ' 

"You are right," said the visitor. "A 
Roman Catholic would have no show in my 
house." 

"Well, you are honest and square," said 
the priest, "and I admire those virtues 
heartily. But come the next evening without 
fail, and prime yourself with all the objections 
and questions you can hold. We'll answer 
them all. Good-evening." 

The priest pleasantly showed the visitor 
out, and he went away quite satisfied that he 
was going to be treated squarely, and no ef- 
fort would be made to "turn" him. 



110 THE HAND OF MERCY 

His wife was curious, but she had to be 
satisfied with his answer that he was going to 
sift the thing to the bottom, and was going 
again, as he wasn't through. He dropped the 
subject, and nothing was said about it. At 
last his wife forgot it completely. He left 
the house certain evenings of the week, but 
always returned in an hour or so. His home 
life became pleasanter than before. 

Where did he go? For three months he 
went to that rectory. He listened to the 
priest, he joined in the questions asked by 
the two men who were always there, he 
started objections, he pointed out parts of 
the catechism that he wished explained, and 
when the priest said to the two men that he 
thought they were sufficiently instructed in 
the faith, they answered that they were fully 
convinced and were ready for the next step. 

"Then," said the priest, "I will baptize 
both of you next Sunday and may God bless 
you and give you perseverance!" 

They rose and said, " Good-night." 

But the visitor lingered. When the two 
men left he said: 

"Father, why didn't you ask me what you 
asked them?" 

"You?" said the priest, in assumed sur- 
prise. "Why, you told me that you would 



AN IMPORTANT SCIENCE 111 

never be a Catholic! That was the positive 
understanding. You came simply out of 
curiosity to learn the truth — not to join the 
Church." 

"I must join it now," said the man. "I 
am convinced it is the only true Church. ' { 

Needless to say, he was gladly welcomed 
into the Church, was baptized and received 
the Sacraments. His changed appearance 
could not keep the secret long, and when his 
wife heard he had really become a Catholic 
her indignation, and even fury knew no 
bounds. Not content with upbraiding him, 
she brought the elders of her Church to ex- 
pose to her poor, benighted husband the awful 
errors of Romanism and to remove the spell 
the priest had lain upon him. They came 
and surrounded his chair when he sat down 
to rest after his hard day's work in the mill. 
Kneeling on the floor, they lifted up their 
hands and voices in most piteous appeals to 
the Heavenly Father to break the shackles 
of Popery that bound him and "peel the 
scales" from his eyes. 

Their efforts were entirely unsuccessful. 
The good man went his way, happy in his 
new-found faith, and more than ever friendly 
to the good Irishman at the mill, who had not 
the least idea that he was in any way the 



112 THE HAND OF MERCY 

cause of this remarkable conversion. At home 
he parried the ridicule, and then the distress 
of his wife so pleasantly that she stopped 
allusions to the matter, for she was de- 
votedly attached to him. Watching him 
closely, however, she saw that his new relig- 
ion had made him a better man. And as no 
remarkable excitement occurred in her own 
place of worship — in fact after a week the 
"defection" was not even noticed — she began 
to take courage. She realized that a Roman 
Catholic, especially when he was one's hus- 
band, was just as noble and devoted a man 
as any one else. 

A year passed by. The husband was a 
fervent convert. All words about religion 
had ceased between him and his wife. He 
prayed and he waited, but he said nothing. 
One Sunday afternoon they passed along the 
street taking a walk together, and found 
themselves in the vicinity of the church of his 
baptism. 

"You have never shown me the inside of 
a Catholic church yet," said the wife. "Are 
you afraid I ' ' 

"Why, my dear," said her husband, in 
surprise, "it never occurred to me that 
you would be interested. Will you come 
now?" 



AN IMPORTANT SCIENCE 113 

"To be sure," was the answer; "as well 
now as any time. ' ' 

They crossed the street and entered the 
vestibule of the church, where they found the 
pastor in cassock and biretta walking up and 
down reading his breviary. He stopped, held 
out his hand to the lady, and welcomed her 
cordially. They were evidently well ac- 
quainted. 

On seeing the amazed look of the man^ both 
laughed. Then the wife said joyously: "Do 
you think you are going to heaven without 
me? Don't you think the example of your 
Catholic life has had some influence?" 

Still the man stared without a word. 

"Mr. Y , this is an appointment with 

your wife," the priest explained. "I have 
been instructing her for some months, and 
as she begged me to keep it secret to sur- 
prise you, I complied with her wish. She is 
to be baptized this afternoon and received in- 
to the Church. Everything is ready. Let 
us go in." 

The delighted husband was moved to 
tears. He could only look his happiness; 
words seemed denied him. Silently he fol- 
lowed. Surely that day there was joy in 
heaven when husband and wife knelt before 
the altar — now one in faith and in love and 



114 THE HAND OF MERCY 

one in heart. Their children- — and the fam- 
ily was large — followed them after some 
time, and all were baptized Catholics. 

Such was the story of this conversion told 
me by a brother-priest a few months ago. 
He was the one who instructed and baptized 
these several converts. And then he said: 

"Now, what was the primary cause of all 
these conversions? Was it some well-written 
book dealing with Catholic doctrine? No. 
For the miserable ' escaped nun' pamphlet 
was the first book that started the inquiry. 
Was it a powerful sermon— a series of lec- 
tures, eloquent and convincing? Was it even 
the instructions of the priest? No. For some- 
thing had gone before, silently, powerfully, 
day by day. What was this influence? It 
was the good example of that poor Irishman 
in the mill, in his greasy overalls, with grimy 
hands and face. Had you asked him to give 
you a definition of the infallibility of the 
Pope or the indefectibility of the Church, he 
might not have given you a classic answer 
—but he was a past-master in the most im- 
portant of all sciences — the science of good 
example." 

He is dead now, that honest, pure, sober, 
clean-speaking, religious man, but his ex- 
ample of what the true faith produces in a 



AN IMPORTANT SCIENCE 115 

man who has to work hard day by day in 
the midst of demoralizing influences brought 
forth the silent admiration of a fellow- 
worker, led to his conversion, his wife's con- 
version and the baptism and restoration to 
the Catholic Church of their six children. 
How little did that "escaped nun," with her 
wretched falsehoods, dream that a poor 
Irishman in the mill would tear down, with- 
out a word being uttered by him, not only 
her shaky fabric of lies, but all the logic 
of the "elders of the Church," and win to 
the sweet yoke of Christ eight precious souls, 
who were by his humble example to taste 
eternal salvation. 

How many there are who could draw souls 
to the light as he did! How many could 
exert silently yet surely the tremendous in- 
fluence of good example! 



THE CHAPLAIN'S STORY. 

TTISXTING the chaplain of a famous hos- 
* pital— he had been stationed there many- 
years — the conversation turned on God's 
great and wonderful mercy to wandering 
souls in their extremity. 

"Let me tell you, Father Alexander/' he 
began, very earnestly, "of an extraordinary 
case that came under my own observation; 
it will prove how true are your words — that 
God's love surpasses all understanding, and 
it may encourage any doubting soul you meet 
always to trust in Him. 

"We had an ambulance call about ten 
o 'clock one night from the railroad company, 
saying that a man had been knocked down and 
injured by a train. Instantly the ambulance 
dashed off to the scene, and in less than half 
an hour it returned. The surgeons and 
nurses were ready and went out to meet it. 
When the door was opened a man stepped out 
of the ambulance and, although he looked pale 
and dazed, he walked into the corridor ! 

116 



THE CHAPLAIN'S STORY 117 

" i Where is the patient?' asked the sur- 
geon. 

" 'Here I am!' said the man, looking at 
him. 

" 'But I thought it was a railroad acci- 
dent,' said the surgeon. 

"The resident doctor, who accompanied the 
ambulance, said: 

" 'This is the man who was knocked down 
by the train. He must be examined.' 

"At the prospect of ' something doing' the 
doctors busied themselves and led the way 
to the operating room, the patient walking 
with them. 

"Little was said, but when they entered 
the white-lined room, with its white tables, 
white belongings, dazzling with electrics, the 
patient said: 

" 'What are you going to do to me?' 

" 'We are going to examine you carefully 
to see where you are hurt; have you any 
pain?' 

" 'I cannot say; I feel dazed. But first I 
want to see a Catholic priest. Is there one 
around?' he said to the Sister in charge of 
his case. 

" 'There is one in the house,' said the 
Sister stepping forward. 

"'Could I see him?' 



118 THE HAND OF MERCY 

" 'Of course you can.' 

" 'I wish you would give us a chance to 
find out what is wrong with you/ said the 
surgeon, 'we will help you on the table.' 

" 'You won't cut, or probe, or do anything 
till the Sister comes back, will you?' 

" 'No, if you say so,' said the surgeon. 
'Perhaps there is not much wrong. Come, 
now!' 

" 'Yes, there is,' said the patient. 'I'M. let 
you look, but I must see the priest before you 
do anything.' 

"He walked to the table, while the Sister 
left the room to search for me. It was be- 
tween eleven o'clock and midnight, but of 
course T arose and went at once: When we 
arrived at the operating room, the surgeon 
said : 

" 'Father, we have examined this man from 
head to foot and there is not a scratch ©n 
him, not a bone displaced. He is still calling 
for you, so we will wait until morning for a 
more thorough examination. Sister will give 
him a room where he can be comfortable, and 
I hope he will have a good night's rest.' And 
the surgeons, laying aside their instruments, 
left the room. 

n 'Father, thank God you have come! I 
need you very much. Thank you, Sister. ' I 



THE CHAPLAIN'S STORY 119 

made a motion to the Sister and she left to 
give directions about the patient's room. 

"I was a long time with the man! How 
my heart went up in thanksgiving to God for 
him! I heard his confession, which he made 
with most edifying sentiments and then I 
sent for the Sister. When she came I said to 
her: 

" ' Sister, I am going to give this man the 
Last Sacraments; will you get the things 
ready?' 

"She looked her amazement, but she only 
said : 

" 'His room is ready, Father; don't you 
think he had better come to it? It is not far.' 

11 'Yes,' said the patient. 'I would rather 
do so.' He seemed to stagger, and she called 
an orderly. 

" 'Father,' said the Sister to me, 'do you 
think his case is so serious?' 

" 'Something impels me to give him the 
Last Sacraments,' said I, 'it may be a special 
grace; God's goodness is past all compre- 
hension. ' 

"She said no more and while the orderly 
was assisting him to bed we went to the 
chapel, whence I brought the Blessed Sacra- 
ment, while she carried the lighted candle 
through the long corridors to the room of this 



120 THE HAND OF MERCY 

unusual patient. He was anointed and re- 
ceived Holy Viaticum with extraordinary fer- 
vor, and when I gave him the last blessing he 
crossed himself and folded his hands rever- 
ently. When all was over, and I had prepared 
to leave for the night, he turned to me and 
said : 

" 'Oh, Father, how can I ever thank God 
for this night ! I think I can sleep now;' and 
I saw a tear steal down his cheek. 

"We bade him good-night or rather good- 
morning, for it was long past two o'clock; 
and then left him. At seven o 'clock the nurse 
met me and said the surgeon sent this word : 

" 'We are going to that accident case in an 
hour ; give him a light breakfast if he wants 
anything, and tell him we will make a more 
thorough examination when we get there.' " 

"I went with her to the patient's room. He 
was lying in a stupor, and entirely uncon- 
scious ; the orderly said he had never spoken 
or moved since he bade us good-night. On 
examination it was found that his brain had 
been injured by the fall and, in the opinion 
of the specialist who was summoned, he 
would never regain consciousness. 

"And he never did! 

"For nine days he lay there without one 
glimmer of reason. Various remedies were 



THE CHAPLAIN'S STORY 121 

proposed — some were tried, but without the 

least effect. On the ninth day he died ! 

" God's tender mercy again! God's great 

and boundless love ! And then I recalled the 

night he walked into the operating room and 

insisted on seeing the priest. If he had not 

done so then, his last chance would have 

vanished. 

# # * * * 

"Some days afterward, a lawyer and a 
priest came to the hospital and asked for 
a certain patient. We had never heard the 
name, but, on being shown the photograph of 
the one for whom they were searching, I 
recognized the man who had died unconscious 
after making his peace with God. He had 
given an assumed name which his relatives 
had never heard. He was of a fine family, 
but had lived a rather wild life for some 
years. The lawyer was his brother, the priest 
his uncle. "When I told them of the grace 
he received before his death, and of his fer- 
vent reception of the Last Sacraments, they 
joined with me in thanking God." 



THE STRENGTH OF THE WEAK. 

TS THEEE a truism more true than the 
-*- fact that we get weary of well-doing as of 
everything else ? As life goes on we discover 
its inexorable weariness, and unless the Mas- 
ter sustain us we fall by the wayside ! Even 
in our missionary life we know it is His sus- 
taining Hand that gives success to the ef- 
forts we make, and often He confounds us 
by making use of the weakest means to 
humble our self-sufficiency. 

So said an experienced and devoted mis- 
sionary to me one day — a man as learned 
as he was holy. His words impressed me 
deeply; He went on further: 

"I remember preaching a mission one 
autumn in a small town. I had one assis- 
tant — a delicate, sickly man (since dead), 
who by right should have been retired. But 
his burning zeal refused to believe he could 
work no longer, and as I was robust and 
strong I was willing to bear the brunt, and 
relieve him of all the hardships. In my con- 
ceit I supposed mine would be the greater 
fruit! 

"One morning my assistant looked more 

122 



THE STRENGTH OF THE WEAK 123 

ill than usual. He was ghastly pale, with 
two hectic spots on his cheekbones, and 
seemed scarcely able, after Mass, to drag 
himself from the sacristy to swallow a cup of 
coffee. He went to his room to lie down at 
once, for he was to give the eight o 'clock in- 
struction. I asked him if he felt able for it. 
He replied : ' Oh, yes ; I have often felt worse. ' 

" At the proper time he crawled downstairs, 
and appeared on the platform erected in the 
church. 

"He gave a solid, practical sermon, but it 
was evident that he was making a great ef- 
fort. I saw him wipe his brow several times 
with his handkerchief, an unfailing sign of 
his physical weakness. He was obliged also to 
shorten the time allotted to the eight o 'clock 
instruction, and no sooner was it over than 
he hurried to his room again. He met me 
on the way, and said in a grieving voice : 

" 'Oh, Father, what a useless " assistant' ' 
I am! Here I was obliged to cut short the 
shortest of the sermons. I felt so weak and 
dizzy ; once I had to stop long enough to beg 
God secretly to help me through. "What a 
pitiful excuse of a helper I am ! ' 

"The poor man shook his head despair- 
ingly. 

" i Don't be distressed, Father/ I said, 



124 THE HAND OF MERCY 

thinking of my own robust health, with a 
secret pleasure that I could talk for two hours 
without fatigue, ' The Lord accepts the good 
will every time. Go and rest a while; Con- 
fessions won't begin till ten o'clock' He left 
me with a sigh. He had done his best, and 
it amounted, so he thought, to nothing but 
failure. But God chooses the weak to con- 
found the strong, as I soon found out. 

"That afternoon a gentleman called and 
asked to see the missionary who had given 
the eight o'clock instruction that day. My 
assistant, when he heard it, said there must 
be a mistake; the instruction was too short 
and unimpressive to bring any one to the 
rectory. However, he went down to the re- 
ception room. As soon as he entered the gen- 
tleman arose and greeted him. He was an 
educated man of fine presence. 

" ' Father, ' he said, 'I am so glad you have 
come down. You attracted me every time you 
spoke, and this morning was the climax. I 
am a great sinner. I have not been to my 
duty for thirty-five years. I have never had 
peace of soul, but when my conscience goaded 
me unbearably, I went from one church to 
another wherever a mission was held in hopes 
that my heart would be touched by some ser- 
mon. Never in all these years have I met 



THE STKENGTH OF THE WEAK 125 

the man God intended to convert me until I 
heard you ; and this morning when I listened 
to your inspiring words — when I saw you, 
pale and weak, uttering those fiery denuncia- 
tions of the procrastinating sinner, your 
whole heart in your words, I felt I must speak 
to you, and ask you to hear my confession!' 

' i Thus he spoke to my sickly assistant — 
the man whose voice scarcely carried half 
down the church. More, this was the one man 
in the congregation whom the pastor had 
specially mentioned he hoped would profit 
by the mission. God had given this man's 
soul to my broken down assistant! 

"Need I say he went to confession, and 
received Holy Communion with wonderful 
fervor? He attended every sermon during 
the mission, and the edification he gave to the 
people of the parish was stimulating*. He 
visited my assistant every day, and never 
seemed to tire of his advice or his presence. 

' ' I need not say that the consolation he gave 
him, and the lesson then given me, were both 
marked down in the record of that mission. 
No doubt, to many who read this, the fulness 
of God's promise will rise to strengthen the 
weak and to make the strong realize that 
no matter what may be the labor, God alone 
giveth the increase." 



TWO SINNERS. 

/^LANG! clang! clang! The hospital ambu- 
^-^ lance, with its galloping horses, dashed 
through the streets on a hurry call. Every- 
where the right of way was given them, for 
the throngs in the street knew that life or 
death hung on the swift and unobstructed 
path of those rushing horses. I stood at the 
hospital. window to wait their return, for I 
had heard the call, and knew I would be 
needed. 

"What is it?" I asked the office employee. 

"Two men with crushed skulls, Father — a 
fall of slate where they were working. They 
may not be alive when the ambulance reaches 
them!" 

6 ' Poor fellows, ' ' I murmured. My thought 
was : what about their desolate homes, their 
wives and children — and most of all their im- 
mortal souls! 

I could not leave the spot, but paced up 
and down the corridor. Very soon the am- 
bulance dashed into the courtyard; the doc- 
tors and orderlies ran out. Tenderly the 

126 



TWO SINNERS 127 

two helpless men on their stretchers were 
lifted to the elevator, and in a few minutes 
they were on their beds surrounded by the 
doctors. 

I was close by. The senior surgeon paused, 
after a swift, searching examination, and 
looked at me. 

"Skulls fractured, Father, in both cases. 
Little hope!" 

Quickly the necessary sterilizing and ban- 
daging of the wounds were completed, stimu- 
lants given and nurses installed. 

I stood there, waiting for a conscious 
moment. There was not a sound from the 
patients but stertorous breathing; both were 
oblivious of suffering for the time being; 
They were young men — scarcely more than 
twenty-eight. They had been working side 
by side in the trench, when the earth loosened, 
and with a crash they were crushed down, 
and slate and shale heaped on them, burying 
them in a living grave. As quickly as pos- 
sible their companions dug them out. They 
were brought unconscious to the hospital. 
No one knew their religion. 

Suddenly one stirred, and his tongue was 
loosed. Oaths and curses fell from his lips ! 
I bent over him, took his hand, tried to talk 
to him, but all I said w T as unavailing to stop 



128 THE HAND OF MERCY 

the flow of blasphemy. He was half con- 
scious, crazed by suffering. As his voice 
grew louder, his fellow sufferer opened his 
eyes. He heard and knew what his comrade 
was saying. 

"Stop, Jim!" he muttered feebly. "Say 
'Lord, have mercy on me!' " 

"My son," I asked, "are you a Catholic?" 

"Yes, Father," he said feebly. 

"I am a priest. Won't you make your 
confession? You are dangerously hurt." 

"How long will I live, Father?" said he. 

"Not long, my son. We must lose no time. 
When you make your peace with God, you 
will feel easier. God is good." 

I was interrupted by a terrible oath from 
the other bed. It startled me, and made my 
blood run cold to hear such words from a 
dying man. 

"Poor Jim," said my penitent. "Father, 
he doesn't know swearing is a sin. He has 
no religion, but he is such a tender-hearted 
fellow. He tried to save me" — he gasped out 
the words. 

"But your confession, my son?" I said, 
fearing his strength would go. I nodded to 
the nurses— they left. At once he tried to 
bless himself, and without much assistance 
made his confession, which was punctured by 



TWO SINNERS 129 

the curses of his half -conscious comrade. At 
every curse my poor penitent said, "Lord, 
have mercy on him," and resumed his con- 
fession. I was touched and astonished at his 
truly Catholic spirit, his piety and charity. 
But it made me shiver each time to hear the 
oaths that came out distinctly but unmis- 
takably from the dying lips of that other 
stricken man, so soon to appear before 
God. 

I gave my poor penitent absolution, and 
anointed him. His sufferings became ex- 
cruciating. I recalled the nurses, and the 
surgeons who came in gave me a look which 
told me the end was not far off. The young 
fellow fixed his glazing eyes on me. I tried 
to whisper words of hope and contrition and 
began the prayers of the Church for the dy- 
ing. 

Still at intervals came the awful muttering 
and cursing from the next bed. At last there 
was a fearfully distinct curse and my poor 
penitent, with a strong effort, said quite dis- 
tinctly: "Have mercy on poor Jinr." I 
stopped and whispered, "Pray for him when 
you see God, my son!" He looked at me — 
I saw he understood. 

It was an incredibly touching scene — a dy- 
ing man praying for another dying man! — 



130 THE HAND OF MERCY 

one penitent, one obdurate, like the malefac- 
tors on Calvary ! 

I began the solemn prayers of the Church : 
"Depart, oh Christian soul, in the name of 
God the Father. " There was silence in the 
room now, broken only by the death rattle. 
The breathing came faster. The sweat stood 
on his forehead. I raised my hand for the 
last absolution, and as I said the final words 
the poor crushed creature gave forth his soul 
to his Maker. The attendants waited a few 
minutes — then drew the sheet over the white 
face. 

I turned to the other bed. An aged man 
stood beside it. 

"Are you a relative ?" I said. 

"I am his father, " was the reply. 

"What religion does your son prof ess !" I 
asked. 

"He hasn't any, that I know; we are Meth- 
odists." 

"Is your son baptized?" I said. 

"We don't baptize. I don't think he cares 
enough for any Church to join it." 

Just then the injured man started up in 
his bed and tried to speak. I saw from his 
eyes he was conscious: 

"I want his Church, ' ■ he cried, * ' his Church 



TWO SINNERS 131 

is the only one. Don't you see him there? 
That's what he is saying!" 

A feeling of awe crept over me, over the 
father and the nurses as they looked in the 
direction he indicated. I felt that God was 
working a miracle of grace before us. Had 
that poor man whose eyes were just closed 
to this world, besought God for his comrade 
— for "poor Jim"? It seemed like it. 

"My son," I said, taking his hand, "don't 
you want to meet your comrade in heaven? 
Don't you want to go there? If you do you 
must be baptized and believe in the Holy 
Catholic Church — the only true Church." 

"I do!" said the poor fellow, his eyes still 
fixed on a spot at the foot of his bed. 

"Do you want to be baptized and become a. 
Catholic Christian?" I said, marveling at 
the evident supernatural interference — al- 
most visible to our senses. 

"I want to be baptized," he said firmly 
and distinctly. 

"You are sorry for all the wrong you have 
ever done, and especially for the curses and 
oaths you have ever uttered?" 

"I am! I am!" he cried, and sank back 
with tears rolling down his cheeks. The sur- 
geon laid his finger on his wrist. 

"Do you wish to be baptized?" 



132 THE HAND OF MEECY 

"Yes, oh yes," he murmured, his voice 
growing weak. 

I put on my stole, seized a glass of water 
and placing a folded towel on his pillow, I 
avoided the bandages and baptized him. 

Oh, the marvel of the Sacraments! His 
expression changed, his convulsed face be- 
came tranquil; his heavy breathing became 
quieter. His eyes opened, and I almost 
fancied that a slight smile was in their depths 
as he fixed them on the foot of his bed. I 
am as sure as I live that the comrade who had 
just passed into eternity obtained this poor 
man's conversion— had besought God's grace 
for him and was waiting to bring him as a 
trophy to the feet of the divine Saviour ! 

I looked at the man. The lips were grow- 
ing white — I knew that he was dying. I be- 
gan the "Our Father," and his lips tried to 
frame the words; I began the act of contri- 
tion, and his agony grew visibly, but the 
words of prayer came in snatches from his 
lips*. I said the l ' Credo. ' ' He tried to follow 
me. He was still conscious ; I raised my hand, 
I gave him the last absolution, and, quickly, 
like the last spurt of a dying candle, the 
spark of life went out. 

He had died a baptized Catholic — that man 
who had been brought to the hospital cursing 



TWO SINNERS 133 

and swearing most terrible oaths an hour be- 
fore! All was over. Both of those souls 
were in Eternity! The one (no doubt of it) 
had pleaded with God for the other, and his 
prayer was granted. 

We left the room in silence, but all felt 
that the supernatural had been there before 
our eyes. Christ the Redeemer who died be- 
tween two sinners on Calvary, and who would 
have willingly saved both, had not permitted 
here that one of His erring but ignorant sons 
should be a castaway, because the voice of 
pleading arose in his behalf. He was saved. 
Both were that day within the threshold of 
paradise ! 



FRUITION. 

TT WAS summer in the foot-hills of the 
-*- Adirondaeks. Visitors were coming and 
going. Among them were a charming old 
lady and her two lovely daughters. This 
amiable and sweet old person was of unusual 
piety and goodness. She loved God and her 
neighbor — was a devout reader of the Bible, 
and was devoured with zeal for the salva- 
tion of those wandering souls that were not 
members, like herself, of the " enlightened' y 
Protestant Church. 

More than anything else, she was full of 
pity for poor "Papists," those precious 
souls whose misguided pastors led them 
through devious ways to perdition. In her 
sincere zeal she pondered over their misfor- 
tune, and almost felt herself to be a proph- 
etess sent by God to warn them of their 
danger. 

The more she dreamed, the more anxious 
she became for an opportunity: She was 
oblivious of the beauty of the grand old 
mountains, the royal woods, the crisp piney 

134 






FBUITION 135 

odors of the hills, and the delights of their 
wooded pathways. Her only thought was 
Eeligion! — how could she place some soul 
on the right path to heaven? 

Her opportunity came ! The Catholic pas- 
tor of the vicinity had a mixed congregation 
of French-Canadians, to which race he him- 
self belonged and although his church was 
fifteen miles away from the town where our 
venerable lady stayed, she determined to pay 
him a visit and state her "mission"! He 
received her cordially, and from common- 
place topics they drifted to religion. 

"Do you know," said the lady, with all 
courtesy and gentleness, "I have been think- 
ing much of you, since I saw you in your 
church? Forgive me if I say that I grieve 
that one so intelligent should be led away, 
with all his people, from the purity of the 
Gospel (as we read it in the Bible), to the 
errors of Eome!" 

"And are you so sure of that, madame?" 
said the priest. 

"Indeed, I am, or I would not dare to in- 
troduce the subject! Feeling myself so en- 
tirely right, I do not think it presumptuous 
in me to acknowledge this strong, unquench- 
able desire to see you right, too. I feel it is 
an inspiration — a light, even a MISSION 



136 THE HAND OF MERCY 

from the Holy Ghost, to guide you to the 
Lord Jesus." 

The priest respected her evident sincerity. 
He knew it would be useless to begin a con- 
troversy so he said, mirthfully : 

"My dear madame, I believe you to be en- 
tirely sincere in your desire to convert me. 
If you can convince me that I am wrong, I 
am most willing to listen. But on one con- 
dition. ' ' 

"Name it, my dear sir!" said the de- 
lighted lady. 

"Have you ever heard of a prayer called 
the 'Hail Mary'?" 

The lady reflected. 

"Yes," she said. "I had a little maid in 
my family, a French-Canadian orphan, who 
was a pious Eoman Catholic. When I asked 
her if she prayed, she told me she said the 
'Our Father 9 and the 'Hail Mary.' I never 
interfered with her. I consider that all 
prayers have some good in them ! ' ' 

"So they have," said the priest. "And 
now, since you have heard of the 'Hail 
Mary' I promise that I will listen to your 
'mission,' if you promise me that you will 
say or read that little prayer every day till 
we meet again. Will you promise?" 

The old lady was so eager to convert the 



FRUITION 137 

affable pastor that she gave her word*. She 
actually gave her word to say the "Hail 
Mary ' ' every day I 

And then she poured out her mission with 
all the fire of a prophetess. The substance of 
her speech was that he was in darkness. He 
must come forth from that darkness by study- 
ing the Bible and preaching it alone ; then he 
and his people would see the light, and leave 
the shadow of death for life everlasting. 
- The priest listened attentively, never in- 
terrupting, and courteously promised he 
would certainly think of what she had said, 
and would pray for the light of the Holy 
Spirit in all his undertakings. 

"And now," said he, "I have redeemed 
my promise. I have listened to you. It re- 
mains for you to fulfil yours. You will daily 
say that prayer, the "Hail Mary'?" 

"I certainly will," said the poor old lady, 
delighted that the priest seemed so favorably 
impressed. "I hope to call soon again!" 

The priest politely showed her to the 
door, and as she passed out of sight, he said 
smilingly to himself: 

"The good God will pity your sincere, 
well-meaning efforts, my dear lady, and you 
will be saved anyway, because you are work- 
ing according to your lights. That 'Hail 



138 THE HAND OF MEKCY 

Mary' is going to take root somewhere, and 
bear its fruits to the Church ! ' ' 

He was right. The dear old lady never 
called again: She passed away to the pres- 
ence of God, still dreaming of the Holy 
Spirit's message. She was in good faith, and 
so she was judged by a merciful God. But 
she never forgot her promise to say the 
"Hail Mary" every day. 

And now behold the fruits. After her 
death, strange to say, an unconquerable 
yearning seized her eldest daughter to know 
something of the Catholic Church: She 
found the opportunity to inquire and her in- 
quiries led her to be instructed and to be 
baptized. She is now a fervent convert. Her 
younger sister is inclining the same way, and 
there is little doubt that she, too, will follow 
in her footsteps. Ere long the heartfelt wish 
of her departed mother will be fulfilled — al- 
though in a manner far different to that 
which she anticipated. Out of the darkness 
she will come to the true path, that ever leads 
to light. 



THE ORGANIST. 

O EATED in the garden of a seminary for 
^ theological students in a far away city, 
one evening, the conversation turned on the 
value of kindness. I was speaking of the 
human heart and its unfailing susceptibility 
to gentle deeds, also that kindness brings its 
own reward. My listeners — a fine group of 
young men, all ecclesiastical students — were 
drinking in, with eager pleasure, the fruits 
of my missionary career. A few random 
words of acquiescence, a few light comments 
on personal incidents occurred — and then 
there was a lull. I looked around. The beauty 
of the evening was entrancing. The summer 
was waning, and the full foliage of the trees 
everywhere shaded the quiet seminary 
grounds. It was after supper and we were 
gathered in a pleasant spot where flowers 
grew and a fountain trickled from a high 
spray into one basin after another in musical 
drops. Some birds were twittering good 
night. A faint star appeared in the blush of 
the sunset and in the distance we heard the 

139 



140 THE HAND OF MEBCY 

deep notes of the organ. The other students 
were practicing in the choir of the church. 

The distant music of the organ brought to 
mind a reminiscence of the long ago — of my 
own seminary life — and I told the students 
so: 

"What was it, Father!" 

"Do tell us!" they cried with one voice. 

I looked at the earnest, manly faces beam- 
ing above the Eoman collars — and felt they 
would profit by it. 

"The organ makes me think of it — and it 
is all about a little act of kindness," I began. 
"Many years ago our class — twelve of us — 
were ordained deacons. We had looked for- 
ward to this step in our priestly career with 
intense joy. It was the emphasis of our 
severance with the world, an entrance into 
the privileges of the sanctuary. We all had 
strong vocations, and our priestly professors 
had spared nothing to foster them. So when 
we were deacons we reverently rejoiced in our 
privileges, among them that of our prox- 
imity to the Blessed Sacrament. We could 
open the Tabernacle of the Holy of holies; 
we could expose our blessed Saviour in the 
ostensorium for Benediction, and again re- 
store Him to the tabernacle when Benediction 
was over. We each took our turn at this 



THE ORGANIST 141 

privilege. Need I say that our strong faith 
was made stronger and our love for the 
Eucharistic God increased by the closeness 
of our contact with Him? 

"A whole year passed by. No one noticed 
that one of our number had never knelt with 
the priest for Benediction. He was our or- 
ganist. A pale, delicate fellow with a heart of 
fire; mortified, holy, exact, saintly. He was 
too good to ask any one to give him a turn, 
and so he played the organ each Benediction 
and sang the chants of the Church, while, 
naturally, he yearned to kneel at the foot of 
the altar and exercise the privilege of his 
ordination. One day it struck a companion 

of mine that Mr. Z had never been in the 

sanctuary. 

"He said to me: 

" 'Look here! have you noticed that Mr. 

Z never gets a chance to serve as deacon 

for Benediction? It is nearly a year since 
we were ordained, and we've all had two or 
three turns, while he has not had one. It is 
my turn this evening. I'm not much of a 
player, but I think I can get through the 
music if I practice a bit beforehand. I'll go 
this minute and make the offer. ' 

" 'Go ahead, Mr. Brady!' I said. 'I wish 
I had thought of it.' 



142 THE HAND OF MERCY 

' ' The kind-hearted fellow went to Mr. Z- 



and asked him if he would like to serve in his 
turn at Benediction. 

" 'God bless you, Mr. Brady/ said Mr. 
Z . 'But who will play the organ?' 

" 'I'll try,' said his fellow-student with a 
manly blush. 'I'm out of practice, but just 
have the plain chant and I guess I'll get 
through. You have never yet served at 

Benediction, Mr. Z . And I know you 

want to. ' 

" 'Want to?' burst out Mr. Z . 'Of 

course I want to! I have just longed — just 
longed, I tell you, to be so close to the Sacred 
Heart. I have sighed with "wanting" when 
I saw you fellows, one by one, open that 
sacred door, and place the Divine Saviour in 
the monstrance and kneel so close to adore 
Him! Want to? Why, Mr. Brady, you have 
done me such a kindness that I will never 
forget it ! ' 

" 'Why in the world didn't you ask some of 
us to change ? ' Mr. Brady blurted out, feeling 
a twinge of remorse all through his being 
for the thoughtlessness of the class that had 
thus starved the devotion of this beautiful 
soul. 

" 'Oh, I couldn't ask for such a favor,' he 
replied in a low voice, 'Every one values it 



THE ORGANIST 143 

as much as I do. I would not be so pre- 
sumptuous as to ask. ' 

"Mr. Brady looked at him. Never had he 
seemed so frail, so white, so spiritual: His 
great dark eyes were the only vivid features 
in his face — and he was awed, he knew not 
why, in his presence. 

"Mr. Brady played for Benediction that 

night and Mr. Z served as deacon. We 

students, who had heard the story, watched 
him. His face glowed like an angel's as he 
opened the tabernacle door and placed the 
Blessed Sacrament in the ostensorium. Such 
reverence, such absorbed devotion, we seldom 
witnessed. With the stole about his shoulder, 
over his white surplice, he might have been 
taken for a St. Stephen or a St. Lawrence. 
At the foot of the altar with clasped hands, 
he knelt, and his eyes never left the Sacred 
Host. It seemed as if his hands were re- 
luctant to place the monstrance in the veiled 
hands of the priest at the Benediction. When 
it was over, and he restored the Host to 
the tabernacle, the same light was on his 
countenance. We remarked afterwards that 
he looked as if his heart's desire was 
satisfied. 

"This was Sunday: I lost sight of the 
circumstance until I met Mr. Brady on Wed- 



144 THE HAND OF MERCY 

nesday evening. His face was serious and 
his voice trembled. 

" 'Did you hear about Mr. Z V he 

said. 

" 'No!' I exclaimed, 'what about him?' 

" 'Seriously ill! He went to the hospital 
this afternoon.' 

" 'You don't say! I never noticed his ab- 
sence.' 

" 'Oh! he is one of those quiet fellows that 
slip out of sight,' said Mr. Brady with a 
sigh. 'He never tells anything.' 

"At once we both recalled the scene at 
Benediction only three days before. 

" 'I'm mighty glad I gave him my turn,' 
said Mr. Brady as he walked away. 

"Mr. Z died on Saturday like the saint 

that he was, strengthened by the Sacraments. 
There was dismay in the seminary. Before 
he died he asked for Mr. Brady, and when the 
big-hearted fellow stood over him, tears 

running down his cheeks, Mr. Z said to 

him in a low tone : 

" 'I expected this breakdown, Brady. It 
is just as well, for I am neither strong enough 
nor worthy enough to make a good priest. 
But I will never, never forget that if it had 
not been for you, these poor hands of mine 
would never have had the bjessed privilege 



THE OKGANIST 145 

of holding the sacred body of my Lord. Pray 
for me, old friend. ' 

"In an hour he was dead. Mr. Brady 
couldn't stand it. It was a grievous affliction. 
When all was over he came to my room, laid 
his head down on the table and sobbed out : 
" ' Thank God I was once kind to a saint!' 
"In June the eleven of us deacons were or- 
dained priests. Not one among us but felt 
that Mr. Z was hovering over us — per- 
haps extending hands of blessing that were 
not anointed with the chrism of priesthood, 
but consecrated by the touch of that one con- 
tact with Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament 
the Sunday he served at Benediction." 

'TP TT Tf* rnF W 

Deep silence had fallen on the students. 
Twilight had crept on and the moon was up. 
Its white light chastened and spiritualized 
their features. I saw that the good seed had 
gone down deep into their hearts. 

Just then the bell rang. We arose and went 
toward the chapel. No one had spoken. 
There was no need for words, 



44 



THE LIGHT OF HIS EYES. 

TT OW marvelous are the ways in which 

■*-*- God brings the forces of His power 
and tenderness to bear on human souls I" 

Thus said a good Jesuit to me not long ago. 

"Let me Tell you a little incident," he 
continued. "It happened a few years since 
and was told me by one of the participants. 

"It was in the days now past when we used 
bicycles. One of our younger men, by no 
means an expert, was cautiously wobbling his 
wheel along directly behind an elderly man 
who was about as poor a rider as himself. 
Suddenly the elder man's wheel dashed 
against a cart at a crossing. The wheel over- 
turned and was smashed, while the prostrate 
man received in his face the full force of a 
broken spoke, gouging out an eye, which lay 
on his cheek, a bloody and hideous spectacle. 
Immediately, before the crowd gathered, the 
priest sprang from his wheel, and ran to 
assist the prostrate man. He found that the 
poor man was more stunned than hurt ex- 
cept for his face, and his eye, which was a 

146 



THE LIGHT OF HIS EYES 147 

terrible sight. Having brushed off the dust 
and mud, he took a clean handkerchief from 
his pocket, and giving it to the first small boy 
at hand — and they were at hand in a trice — • 
told him to wet it at the nearest hydrant. The 
boy wasn't ten seconds gone, and came back 
with the dripping handkerchief. The priest 
carefully wiped the blood from the eyeball 
and, raising the eyelid, forced back the ball 
into its socket. He then tied the wet hand- 
kerchief over the eye, and around the head. 
The man was much shaken, and the priest ad- 
vised him to go to the nearest doctor. On 
finding that the injured man could walk, he 
started him on his way, and mounted the 
wheel to continue his own journey. 

"As he went along, the thought occurred 
to him that mayhap he had been too hasty. 
What did he know of surgery, or the replac- 
ing of an eyeball? Suppose blood poisoning 
should set in on account of his unskillful act ! 
Suppose the man should die! He blamed 
himself for not taking his wheel and hunting 
up a surgeon. But, he then reflected, he did 
the best he knew how — and his motive was 
pure charity. He had never seen the man 
before, so he left him to God and went about 
his daily work. 

"Next day he read a greatly exaggerated 



148 THE HAND OF MERCY 

account of the accident. He was landed as 
a hero, and the gentleman in question was 
described as one of the well-known, highly 
respected citizens of the town. The latter was 
reported to be completely out of danger, and 
his eye saved. Not anxious for notoriety, the 
Father took good care to keep the matter as 
quiet as possible. He remembered, however, 
that the man to whom the accident had hap- 
pened was a noted bigot, a Puritan of the 
bluest type. 

"A prayer rose to his lips, however, that 
the Lord would have pity on that poor man's 
soul. 

"Time passed, a year at least, and the ac- 
cident was forgotten, when one day the priest 
in question was called to the parlor of the 
rectory. An elderly, dignified gentleman who 
wore glasses, arose to greet him. Taking a 
folded white handkerchief from his breast 
pocket, he displayed a name in the corner 
of it. 

"■'Is that your name, Father V said the 
visitor. 

"The priest looked at the handkerchief in 
astonishment. It was his name without doubt. 

" 'Yes, sir,' was the reply, 'but how did 
you come into possession of my handker- 
chief V 



THE LIGHT OF HIS EYES 149 

" 'Do you remember a bicycle accident 
about a year ago in which you figured, to- 
gether with a smashed-up party and his bicy- 
cle? You put a man's eye back into its socket 
as deftly as if you had studied surgery all 
your life ! ' 

" 'Why,' laughed the priest, 'now that you 
mention it, I remember it. Are you the suf- 
ferer?' 

" 'I was the sufferer,' said the man, 'and 
were it not for you I would be blind to-day. 
You did the job so quickly and so well that 
there are left behind no ill effects worth men- 
tioning. When I showed my eye to a special- 
ist he was amazed at the completeness of the 
job, and when I told him I lost track of you, 
he said I owed you my sight, and perhaps my 
life. 

" 'But I had the handkerchief you tied 
around my head, and your name was there in 
full. I wasn 't long in finding you out, and I 
found your house pretty soon, too. I have 
been visiting your church, attracted by my 
desire to see you, and have been listening to 
your sermons, and to those of the other* 
Fathers here. 

" 'My mind was enlightened, my heart 
touched. I went to one of the priests, and 
having been instructed, I have lately been 



150 THE HAND OF MEBCY 

received into the Church. I repressed my de- 
sire to talk to you, wishing to wait until I 
could tell you that you had given sight, not 
only to my eyes, but to my soul. I am a 
Catholic now, and to you I owe the light of 
my eyes, and the light of faith. Moreover, 
my family — wife and children- — are all under 
instruction, and will follow me into the 
Church. Your act of charity, and this white 
handkerchief which revealed your identity, 
were the means God gave me to see the light. 
I have come this morning to tell you the whole 
beautiful story, and to thank you. ' 

"Need it be said that the priest blessed 
God, who had made him an instrument in so 
remarkable a conversion ? How little we know 
of the influence we exercise by our simplest 
words and works of charity upon those we 
meet ! ' y 




THE TENDER PHYSICIAN 



INTO THE KINGDOM. 

HPHE other evening, a priest of my acquaint- 
-*- ance called for a social visit, and as tie 
was obliged to leave early, I took my hat and 
went a short distance with him. The night 
was fine, and the moonlight beautiful: 

Our conversation turned on the conversion 
of the famous theatrical manager, Henry E. 
Abbey, who was attracted to the Church first 
by noticing the clear, business-like methods of 
her beliefs, especially by the system and order 
evidenced in her mission- work: "No falter- 
ing, no doubting; she speaks with authority, 
and no unbiased mind can fail to be convinced 
of her truth !" 

"Speaking of the stage,' ' said my com- 
panion, l ' let me tell you a a story of another 
member of the stage fraternity, who was con- 
vinced of the truths of religion by watching 
the results of believing them in others." 

"By all means," I replied. "Go ahead." 

"Well, it came about this way. One of our 
Fathers gave a mission in a certain city about 
five years ago. As he is one of the ablest and 

151 



152 THE HAND OF MEECY 

most powerful preachers we have, the church 
was crowded every night. The end of the 
mission came. The final sermon was on the 
sacrifice of Christ on Calvary and the all- 
powerful efficacy of the Mass. It was a mas- 
terpiece, and the people, deeply impressed 
with the magnificent explanation and appeal 
to their souls, filed slowly out of the church, 
while the priest remained a few moments in 
the sacristy. 

"As he stood there, a young lady of great 
beauty and distinguished appearance pre- 
sented herself at the door. 

"She advanced at once to the missionary, 
and said: ' Father, I would like you to say 
a Mass for me, but,' she added doubtfully, 
'I am not a Catholic, and I am an actress; 
will that make any difference?' 

" * Certainly not, my child,' said the priest, 
moving toward a chair, 'of course I will say 
a Mass for you.' 

"He turned, but the lady had gone— with 
a scarcely audible, 'Oh, thank you!' 

"True to his promise, the priest said the 
Mass for the mysterious lady, thought of the 
matter a good deal, and then, because other 
important things claimed his attention, for- 
got all about it. 

"Four years passed. The good Father 



INTO THE KINGDOM 153 

had given many missions and travelled many 
hundreds of miles. At a long distance from 
the city where he had met this lady, he ar- 
rived late one evening at another city where 
he was to give a Retreat. With the usual 
crowd he passed out of the railroad station, 
and made his way to the church where he 
was due that night. He was a complete 
stranger in the city. He delivered his open- 
ing sermon, and then retired. 

"The next morning after his Mass at 7:30, 
the porter informed him that a lady was 
waiting in the parlor, most anxious to see 
him. 

" 'It must be a mistake,' he said, 'I have 
no acquaintances here:' 

"But being assured that there was no 
mistake, he hurried to the parlor, for he had 
no time to lose. The moment he opened the 
door he recognized the lady whom He had 
met four years before in the city of X — — -, 
hundreds of miles away, and who had asked 
him to say a Mass for her. He was amazed, 
remembering that she was an actress, and 
a non-Catholic. 

" 'I ask your pardon, Father, for troub- 
ling you so very early, Vshe said. 'I saw you 
and recognized you in the train last evening, 
and heard that you came here to this church. 



154 THE HAND OF MEBCY . 

Fearing I would miss you, I made an early- 
start. Can you spare me a few moments, 
Father? I have something to tell you that 
I can tell no one else/ 

" 'For anything connected with his priestly 
duty, a priest simply has to have time,' said 
the Father, motioning her to a chair while 
he seated himself. 

" 'Thank you, Father, ' said the lady. 'I 
have been an actress for a number of years, 
and have had splendid success. I was a 
member of the opera in the city where you 
preached that mission four years ago, and 
I am the star of the principal theater in this 
city. I need not tell you my name, or that 
no one knows or believes that I would ever 
come to see a priest. I have everything a 
human heart can long for; youth, wealth, 
praise, love. Yet I am not happy. I have 
felt a longing for something, I know not 
what, for a long time past. I have no re- 
ligion, and have been looking among my 
companions of the stage, curious to learn 
their inward thoughts. They live as I do, 
enjoying travel, change, excitement, and the 
too-free-and-easy life of the stage fraternity. 
But in all these past years I have found but 
one who told me she was happy: 

" 'This is a young girl beginning her 



INTO THE KINGDOM 155 

career at the foot of the ladder, so to speak. 
One day I talked to her quite a while, and 
I asked her if she really had a happy heart. 
Her smile was so sincere that I could not 
doubt her words. I have watched her, pried 
into her conduct day and night, and soon 
learned that she lived a retired life com- 
pared with ours. She did not attend our 
frequent, and sometimes unseemly and wild 
orgies after a season of success, although 
she was a lovely, kind-hearted, beautiful 
girl. I also found out that although she had 
many male admirers, she kept them at a dis- 
tance. Then little by little I became aware 
that her life was one of absolute purity in 
word and deed, and that I could bear no 
comparison with her. I learned that she 
was religious, and I determined to find out 
what was the religion that kept her like a 
lily in the midst of dissipation. When I next 
saw her, after many hours of thought about 
it, I said to her: 

a i "You are very correct and reserved. 
Is it because of your religion? What is it?" 

" ' "I am a Catholic, madame," was her 
reply. i "I attend to the duties of my 
church, and that is my salvation and my 
happiness.' " 

"*! thought over her answer, and deter- 



156 THE HAND OF MEKCY 

mined I would find out something about the 
Catholic religion. Your mission was going 
on at the time, and I knew the Catholic! 
church, so I slipped away one night from 
my noisy friends and went right over to 
where you were preaching. Unfortunately 
it was the conclusion of the mission, so I 
had no chance to profit by it. But I listened 
breathlessly to all you said about the great 
Sacrifice of the Altar, and the thought en- 
tered my mind that perhaps you could say a 
Mass for me — the great effects of which you 
so masterfully explained, and so warmly 
commended to the Catholic people. Fright- 
ened at my boldness, I went to the sacristy 
where I was directed to find you, and asked 
you to say the Mass. Do you remember V 

"I had listened without a word to this 
outpouring from a soul whose sincerity I 
felt, and who was drawn to God by the mag- 
netism of His divine Heart; I looked at the 
speaker. She was a noble looking woman, 
still young and attractive, and of those easy, 
distinguished manners that are given to all 
whose stage career is successful. 

" 'Do I remember, my child?' I said 
heartily. "I remember distinctly. I said 
the Mass for you next day. For a long time 
I remembered you, and then — ' 



INTO THE KINGDOM 157 

" 'And then/ she interrupted, 'you nat- 
urally forgot. That is not all. The good 
God did not forget. Not a day has passed 
in all these years that something did not 
impel me to pray in my own way that I 
might see you again. My prayer has been 
heard. Here I am. I ask you to give me 
instruction, and receive me into that Church 
which is so Godlike in its pure and holy 
doctrines.' 

"My heart overflowed with joy. At once 
I began to instruct and prepare this chosen 
soul for reception into the Catholic Church. 
Although she had never received religious 
instruction, the task was not hard. Her na- 
tive intelligence, her quick apprehension, 
and above all her intense desire, made the 
work easy. Before I left the place I had 
the happiness of baptizing her, of giving her 
the Sacraments, and of placing her on the 
road to a holy Catholic life. She con- 
tinued in her profession, and is very suc- 
cessful in it. But with success generally 
comes a sacrifice; and God required it, not 
from her, apparently, but from another. 

"A year later I was in another city, giv- 
ing a mission in a certain parish. The pas- 
tor, during conversation, spoke of his visits 
to a hospital nearby, and of a young woman 



158 THE HAND OF MEECY 

who had been crippled by an unfortunate 
fall. 

" 'She is a marvel of patience and in- 
telligence/ he said, 'and although she can 
move only on crutches, she is the life of 
the place. Sometimes when the convales- 
cents are moody or discouraged, she gets 
up a little "Punch and Judy" show, or helps 
the Sisters with music and song. I wish 
you could meet her.' 

"My curiosity was aroused. I went to the 
hospital. I asked the good Sisters about this 
patient. At once they beamed with pleas- 
ure, and launched forth into eulogies of 
praise. They led me to the convalescent 
ward, and I saw in the distance a young 
woman seated in the midst of a little crowd 
which parted as I approached. She smiled 
without the least embarrassment, and pointed 
to her crutches : 

" 'These wooden friends of mine, Father, 
must be my apology for not rising,' she said 
with a charming grace, 'but I know you are 
Father So-and-so. I have seen you often, 
and have heard much of you, too.' 

"She had the face of an angel, with fair 
hair, and eyes like the blue heavens. I stared 
at her for a moment, I was so amazed. The 
other patients had slipped away, and the 



INTO THE KINGDOM 159 

Sister who was with me had given me a 
chair. I found that we were alone. 

" 'You have seen and heard of me before?' 
I said, in surprise. ' Where, my child? And 
you know my name? How is this?' 

"She folded her hands, which were very 
white and shapely, and with a beautiful smile 
on her face, she was silent for a moment. 
The act and the silence suggested something 
I could not grasp at once, and then like a 
flash it occurred to me. 

" 'Have you ever been on the stage V 

" 'Yes, Father.' 

M 'How does it happen that you are here?' 

"'I tried to save some of my companions 
from danger, and in doing so I fell. I shall 
never be better,' was the quiet answer. 

"My heart went out to her in pity — so 
young, so beautiful, perhaps a long life be- 
fore her, and her lower limbs useless. She 
read my face, and answered my thoughts. 

" 'You are sorry for me, Father. Do 
not pity me. I am very happy. Being poor, 
I had no place to go, until these dear Sisters 
offered me a home in this hospital. Once, 
some years ago, I offered myself to God if 
He would bring to the Faith a noble woman, 
also an actress, who is now, thanks be to 
His mercy, a fervent Catholic. But I did 



160 THE HAND OF MERCY 

not think then it would be this kind of an 
offering — a cripple for life ! Still, I am sat- 
isfied and happy, for she can do much good, 
much better than I could with my poor 
talents. ' 

"A light broke upon me: 'It is Madame 
C !' I said. 'I baptized her, and re- 
ceived her into the Church/ 

" 'Yes, Father. She told me all about it,' 
said the cripple, fervently. 

" 'And you are the girl whose life behind 
the scenes won her to the Faith! And I 
find you here, in this condition!' 

" 'Yes, Father. I am the poor girl she 
condescended to say was the first cause of her 
conversion. I shall never forget her kindness 
and graciousness.' 

" 'But how is it you are here? Why has 
she not helped you?' 

" 'She has helped me, Father. She does 
not know how my accident happened. She 
w T as far away, in a distant city. She only 
knows that I have retired from the stage, 
and am ill. She would do anything for me, 
she said/ 

" 'How did the accident happen V I con- 
tinued. 

" 'A trap-door was open behind the scenes, 
and I knew others would be going that way. 



INTO THE KINGDOM 161 

I undertook to close it, and lost my balance. 
It was a dreadful fall, but another girl, who 
heard me cry out, was close behind, and if 
I had not fallen, my fate would have been 
hers. At first I had hopes of recovery, and 
it was a bitter blow when they broke it gently 
to me that I would never be well — that I 
must give up all my aspirations. But, 
Father, is it not better to suffer and pray 
that one gifted soul may become perfect, and 
closer to God, than to lead an indifferent life 
in perfect health?' 

"What could I say? Here was the great 
love of which Christ gave the example. I 
arose, deeply touched. I laid my hands on 
the little actress's head, and prayed God to 
bless her, and to bless that other actress who 
had been led by her to the kingdom of the 
faith. I have never seen either of them since." 



THE MAJOR'S PROMISE. 

TT WAS Decoration Day. In a beautiful 
-*- cemetery amid flowers that were heaped 
upon the graves of brave soldiers who had 
died for their country, surrounded by wav- 
ing banners and flags, and men in the uni- 
form of the United States Army, within view 
of a vast crowd of men and women who stood 
in silent sympathy, a Catholic priest raised 
his voice and told his listeners what patriot- 
ism meant, and what heroism stood for in 
this great land of ours. In glowing words he 
lauded love of country, and the men who died 
to save their country. As the audience lis- 
tened many a tear was dashed aside, and all 
heads were uncovered as he spoke the words 
of Benediction, and the prayers of the Church 
for the eternal rest and glory of those who 
had given up their lives to save home and 
fatherland. 

On the outskirts of the crowd an Army 
officer stood with uncovered head. He was 
a man of middle age, and the stripes on his 
uniform and a cane in his hand showed he 

162 



THE MAJOR'S PROMISE 163 

had seen service on the field. He was hand- 
some and erect, and when the crowd dispersed 
and the priest came near him, he raised his 
hand in military salute and smiled gravely. 

The priest smiled also, and stopped to 
speak to him. After a few words the officer 
said: 

"I believe you are a Catholic priest? " 

"I am, Major," was the reply. 

"I am not a Catholic, and have no desire 
to be one, but — I love my country. I have 
shed my blood for her and would do it again. 
I knew there would be service in the ceme- 
tery, since it is Decoration Day ; and because 
this one is near my home, I came to take part 
for the sake of the brave men lying under 
the sod." 

The priest raised his hat and extended his 
hand. 

"I honor you, Major, and I salute you with 
respect! You are too young for the Civil 
War — did you serve in the Cuban War?" 

"Yes, sir! I was in three fights. I almost 
lost this leg at Santiago. It has been crippled 
badly ever since!" 

"You are very erect for a cripple!" said 
the priest pleasantly. 

"So I am told," said the officer. "I owe 
my life, as well as my leg, crippled though 



164 THE HAND OF MERCY 

it be, to the good nursing and devoted atten- 
tion of the Sisters, who had charge of the 
hospital in Cuba into which I was carried. 

"I tell you, sir!" said the Major, and his 
fine face lighted with enthusiasm, " those Sis- 
ters were like the angels of God to us, as we 
were rushed in, bleeding and helpless and 
dying from the field! The one who took 
charge of me never seemed to rest, never sat 
down, never was off duty. Day and night she 
was there. I have wondered since if she 
ever ate or slept! She pulled me through, 
however, and I'll never forget her as long as 
the breath is in this body. When I was dis- 
charged, and able to get about with a crutch, 
I wanted, naturally, to get home: But before 
I started I said to her : ' Sister, I am leaving 
the hospital and returning to the United 
States ; I must thank you for all your kindness 
to a stranger, also that I am an officer in the 
United States Army, and possess some influ- 
ence with our government. Now if I can do 
any favor for you or for your convent, I 
wish you would mention it right here. I 
would like to serve you: ' 9 

" ' Thank you, Major,' she said with a 
smile ; ■ I do not think you can do any favor 
for us. We serve the sick and wounded, any- 
where, everywhere — whenever our nursing 



THE MAJOR'S PROMISE 165 

and poor services are needed. We do not 
expect any reward, although it is good of you, 
and noble, to offer it to us.' 

" 'But, Sister,' I persisted, ' won't you let 
me do something personally, even to please 
you — some little thing!' 

" ' Would you wish to please me?' said the 
Sister, earnestly. 

" 'I would do anything for you, Sister,' I 
cried eagerly — 'only name it!' 

" 'Then,' she said, 'promise me, that when 
you get home, at some time or other, you 
will go into a Catholic church, and stay there 
for a few minutes. Do this on three differ- 
ent occasions. Choose your own time. Sim- 
ply pay three short visits to a Catholic church 
in memory of what I have asked you.' 

" 'Why, that's too easy!' I said. 'But let 
me assure you there will be no religion in it. 
I will keep my promise only in order to please 
you.' 

" 'That's all I ask,' said the Sister. As 
she extended her hand I reverently took it and 
said goodby. 

"I came home, and being a retired officer, 
and quite comfortable, life went on smoothly 
for some years. I forgot all about my prom- 
ise. One day, however, as I sat on my porch 
in the evening, I saw a number of people pass- 



166 THE HAND OF MERCY 

ing by, all in one direction. I asked where 
they were going. I was told the Catholics 
had a mfssion in their church on the next 
block. That's a Catholic church, I thought — 
and suddenly my promise to that good Sister 
came up before me, and seizing my cane and 
hat, I thought I would go, too, and redeem 
the first third of my promise. 

"I went and heard a splendid sermon that 
set me thinking very seriously about the des- 
tiny of man. I was much impressed. The 
next night I went again, and thus fulfilled 
the second third of my promise. I learned 
a good deal about the Catholic Church, and, 
although I have no desire to be a Catholic, 
I am much more enlightened about her claims 
than I ever expected to be." 

He paused here and the priest said: 
"That was your last visit, Major?" 
"Yes. I couldn't get into the crowded 
church the next night, which was the last of 
the mission. So although I started to fulfil 
the last part of my promise to that good Sis- 
ter, I did not succeed — through no fault of 
mine: Then Decoration Day came — the me- 
morial day of every true soldier — and I came 
in here, heard you speak, Father, and find 
myself talking to you and telling you my his- 
torv. ' ' 



THE MAJOR'S PROMISE 167 

They were walking slowly toward the ceme- 
tery gate. 

"It is early still, Major, and our rectory 
is quite near," said the priest. "Come and sit 
on our porch and rest a while. You may have 
fatigued your lame foot by all this standing, 
and you need some rest before you start 
homewards." 

The Major went willingly. He was tired, 
and glad to sit down somewhere. Besides, he 
liked this young priest, and was nothing loth 
to talk to him. On the porch, seated and com- 
fortable, he began to speak of religion. The 
priest was astonished to find he had a child- 
like, earnest nature to deal with ; want of in- 
formation, and some bigotry had given to the 
Major the harsh ideas of the Catholic Church 
that are so often met with, but gradually he 
had come to see that he was mistaken in some 
things, and perhaps other matters he doubted 
might be also satisfactorily explained. 

After an hour's conversation he arose. The 
priest said pleasantly: 

1 ' Our church is just at hand. Suppose you 
go and make the last instalment of your prom- 
ise to that good Sister! There were three 
visits to a Catholic church promised, were 
there not, Major?" 

"There were three visits," said the Major, 



168 THE HAND OF MERCY 

seriously, "and there is no reason why I 
shouldn't finish off this memorable day. I 
will 'burn the mortgage,' so to speak, by the 
entire cancellation of my debt of promise. 
Where is the church? I will go!" 

The priest led him to a side door, opened 
a pew in front of the sanctuary, and left him. 

What silence in this holy place ! The little 
ruby lamp swinging from the ceiling; the 
altar with its white linens ; the vases of lilies 
on each side of the sacred door shedding a 
fragrance that reached even the Major. All 
these things affected him strangely. He had 
never been so close to the Holy of holies be- 
fore: Soon a strange peace filled his heart — 
the vivid sense of a Presence ! The hour for 
which the nun in distant Cuba prayed had 
come. God's grace came forth from the tab- 
ernacle and struck the upright heart of 'the 
soldier as the lightning struck Saul on his 
way to Tarsus. 

He believed ! An hour passed. The priest 
returned. The Major was still there. But 
he rose and followed his new friend. When 
they were outside the sacred precincts, the 
priest looked at the Major. His fine face was 
full of reverent joy. 

"Father," he said, "I am a Catholic! Will 
you instruct me? That good Sister knew 



THE MAJOR'S PROMISE 169 

what she was doing when she asked me to 
visit Christ in His temple.' ' 

Need it be said that the priest accepted his 
task joyfully? The days passed by. The 
Major was instructed, was baptized, made his 
First Communion, and is now a fervent con- 
vert. 

Blessed be Jesus in the Most Holy Sacra- 
ment of the Altar! 



THE STOLEN ROSARY. 

C UNSHINE and balmy breezes, sweet with 
^ the odor of spring blossoms, made the 
May afternoon like a dream of lost Eden. 
The Southern city of Eichmond was all astir 
in the beautiful weather; the streets were 
filled with active men and gay women, who, 
with alert steps and faces that reflected the 
cloudless sky, were on pleasure or on business 
bent 

On one of the side streets stood a little 
Catholic church. As the sun went down the 
doors stood wide open, and passersby could 
look in from the pavement, and note the 
altars, beautifully adorned with long white 
tapers and vases of fragrant flowers. There 
were two altars, one of which was crowned 
by an exquisite marble statue of the Blessed 
Virgin, with a halo of electric stars over her 
head. 

The fragrance of roses floated down the 
aisles and out into the street, and ap- 
pealed delightfully to the senses of a young 
girl who was passing. She looked in, and 

170 



THE STOLEN ROSARY 171 

impelled by curiosity, hesitatingly entered. 
She had never been in a Catholic church be- 
fore, and remembering all the dangerous 
things she had heard of the ways of ' ' Roman 
Catholics," she slipped into the pew nearest 
the door, so that in case of danger she might 
instantly escape. 

There was only a small congregation pres- 
ent, and all seemed so earnestly engaged in 
their devotions that she found herself un- 
noticed. She breathed freely, and began to 
listen to what was said, for the whole church- 
ful was repeating at certain intervals some 
sentences of prayer over and over again. She 
discovered they were led by a single voice 
far away, and she located what she thought 
was the minister, at the foot of the shrine, 
where the marble Madonna stood like a 
vision. 

In vain she tried to catch the words that 
were so often repeated; only these came to 
her ear : 

"Holy Mary, Mother of God— !" 

Over and over again they fell on the air, 
and while more words were said, they died 
away in an indistinct murmur. Uncon- 
sciously she murmured them herself: "Holy 
Mary, Mother of God!" 

Suddenly her eyes caught a broken chaplet 



172 THE HAND OF MERCY 

tying in the pew before her. She had no idea 
of connecting it with the prayers she heard, 
but it was a curiosity, and stealthily she 
snatched it up and slipped it into her pocket. 
Noticing a stir among the people, she hur- 
riedly arose, and fled into the street, quite 
excited at her own bravery in entering a 
"Popish church" without meeting opposition 
or challenge, and determined to make an 
interesting story of the whole adventure that 
night among her friends. 

Sure enough she detailed the episode to a 
a party of young people that evening, told 
graphically of her visit to the church, and 
the scene she beheld, and as some refused to 
believe her, she drew out the broken rosary 
to prove her story. The "superstitions of 
the benighted Catholics" were commented 
upon, and the rosary was passed from hand 
to hand in curious examination. 

The party dispersed. The girl, taking the 
chaplet, went to her room at last to retire 
for the night. She threw the beads on her 
dressing-table, and then with a sigh of relief 
that she could pray to her Heavenly Father 
without such Popish mummery, fell on her 
knees to say her night-prayers. Strange! 
They had left her mind ! Nothing could she 
utter but: 



THE STOLEN EOSARY 173 

"Holy Mary, Mother of God!" 

Again and again did she begin the always 
familiar words of prayer. Her memory was 
a blank. She could not continue — no words 
would come but "Holy Mary, Mother of 
God!" Startled and worried, she tried 
again, with the same result, and finally had 
to abandon the effort in disgust and affright. 

"It is that old Catholic rubbish that has 
bewitched me ! ' ' she cried, and threw herself 
on the bed. But she could not sleep; she 
tossed on her pillow. Over and over and 
again the murmur of the words in the little 
church came to her unwilling ears. 

The morning found her nervous and jaded 
from want of sleep and the strain on her 
mind: She tried to perform her usual duties, 
but again, like the restless moan of the sea, 
came the words, as if a far off multitude were 
saying them, "Holy Mary, Mother of God!" 

Half sick with conflicting emotions, she 
waited until evening. Then in terror and in 
secrecy, she thrust the broken chaplet into 
her pocket, and made her way to the Catholic 
church, to leave the miserable thing where 
she found it. 

She reached the church — no one was there. 
Hurriedly she entered the pew where she had 
found the broken rosary, threw it down, and 



174 THE HAND OF MERCY 

turned to flee with a relieved heart, when her 
eyes rested on the marble Madonna, with its 
pure, exquisite face, and its "meekly folded 
hands." 

"Holy Mary, Mother of God!" fell from 
her lips unconsciously. And then came the 
stroke of grace. The scales of prejudice and 
heresy dropped from her eyes. She believed ! 
The Mother of God was a reality! Christ's 
Church was a haven of peace founded on a 
rock! Her soul had been actually pursued 
by grace. Mary, the Mother of God, had 
won another convert to her divine Son's 
Sacred Heart! She became an earnest 
Catholic, and lived and died an example of 
that fervor which wins and amazes, while it 
fills us with admiration. 

Oh, blessed Mother of God! Thy fair love- 
liness is a part of the beauty of paradise. 
Let some little ray fall on the children of 
Eve, bereaved of thee, that those who know 
thee not may find thee, and finding thee 
love thee, Holy Mary, Mother of God! 



MARCH SEVENTEENTH. 

IN MY mail one morning, came the fol- 
lowing letter addressed to "Rev. Rich- 
ard Alexander:" 

"Dear Rev. Father: 

"We are sending to your address a man- 
uscript which was found amongst the papers 
of the late Rev. J; J. C, pastor of St. James 9 
Church, who died January 11, 1910. Our 
convent is located in this parish, so they 
sent it to us to be forwarded to you, as it 
was the evident intention of our Rev. Pastor 
that we should do so. It was written in 
lead pencil. We have taken the liberty of 
copying it in ink, and herewith transmit it 
to your care. That the contents are abso- 
lutely true, we know, and we wish to have 
it published only to show how tenderly God 
deals with upright souls, who sincerely de- 
sire to know the truth. Please do not mention 
our name, nor the town where the occurrence 
took place. 

11 Yours in the Sacred Heart, 

"Sisters of ." 

175 



176 THE HAND OF MERCY 

I read this letter with interest, and then 
unrolled the manuscript. It was with a 
feeling of reverence that I followed the rec- 
ord of a conversion full of God's love and 
mercy, and thought of the joy the good priest 
felt when he met this ransomed soul so soon 
after he had brought her to God — so close 
together were their deaths. May this narra- 
tive touch many a doubting heart ! Here is 
his manuscript, exactly reproduced: 

"It was in the afternoon of St. Patrick's 
Day, in the year 1909. I went to the barber- 
shop for a shave, as I intended to spend the 
evening with a neighboring priest. While 
there, my housekeeper sent a messenger to 
me asking me to come home as soon as 
possible, as there was an urgent sick call by 
'phone: The call came from a nursing Sister 
of Si Francis, who was at the house of a sick 
lady, a non-Catholic. She begged me to come 
at once, saying that the lady was very low; 
she wanted to be baptized a Roman Catholic, 
and die in the Faith ; that this was a favorable 
opportunity as her family was very preju- 
diced, and not thinking her condition as ser- 
ious as it was, they were absent, leaving her 
to the nurse 's care. 

"I hesitated a moment, because the location 
of the residence was beyond the limits of my 



MAECH SEVENTEENTH . 177 

parish, but the Sister urged me, saying that 
their parish was German, and that an Eng- 
lish-speaking priest could handle this case 
better. I consented then, and went to the 
house, taking with me the Blessed Sacrament. 
Two Sisters met me at the foot of the stairs, 
kneeling for the blessing. They whispered 
to me that the lady was entirely prepared, 
instructed and ready for the Sacraments. I 
went into the room, and after some con- 
versation, found all as the Sisters had said. 
The lady was a remarkably favored soul, full 
of faith, and yearning for the Blessed Sac- 
rament. She was about forty-four years old ; 
came from a wealthy Southern family, was 
highly educated and cultured, a graduate in 
music, art, etc. Her religious training had 
been in the High Episcopal Church, and she 
had been a zealous church-woman, organist 
and Sunday School teacher. During her resi- 
dence at times in a village where there was 
no church she would often gather an assembly 
at her own house, read the Bible, and talk 
of God to them, being careful to warn her 
audience against the superstition and idolatry 
of the Eomish Church, which called on Mary 
the Virgin at almost every breath. Her min- 
ister had been a frequent visitor here during 
her illness — bringing her much consolation, 



178 THE HAND OF MERCY 

and the 6 Lord's Supper.' Noticing that his 
services were not of the highest Episcopal 
rites, she suggested to him to bring some 
candles and ' wafers' from a Catholic supply 
house nearby, and said that she would be 
pleased to have her little son act as one of 
his acolytes. To all this the minister had 
tolerantly acceded. 

"I asked her many questions; found her 
well-instructed, and quite ready for con- 
ditional baptism, for Confession, and recep- 
tion into the Catholic Church, all of which she 
ardently desired. Her firm belief in the 
Real Presence was most remarkable ; her one 
desire was to be a Roman Catholic and re- 
ceive Holy Communion. When I told her 
that I had the Blessed Sacrament with me, 
her joy knew no bounds, and she implored me 
not to delay. I went into the adjoining room, 
where the non-Catholic nurse, the two Sis- 
ters, and her little son were, and brought 
them into the sick-room, that all might wit- 
ness the whole procedure. They heard her 
ask once more for the Sacraments, and wit- 
nessed my ministrations of the same. When 
I left her, after a long visit, her heart was full 
of joy, which manifested itself on her beau- 
tiful countenance. 

"As for myself, I was full of wonder and 



MARCH SEVENTEENTH 179 

thanksgiving. "When I left the room I asked 
the Sisters how this strange conversion had 
occurred. One of them replied as follows: 

' ' l Father, I will tell you all about it. Surely 
it is God's mercy, and Our Lady. It did 
not happen all at once. Last May there was 
a call by 'phone to our convent saying that 

at No. , on a certain street, there was a 

sick lady who wished one of the Sisters to 
come and see her and render her some ser- 
vice, as just then she could not get a suitable 
nurse. I was sent. At first I went three or 
four times a week. Soon she found a nurse. 
After that, I went only when she sent for me. 
She seemed to like me, and said she looked 
anxiously for my coming: Nearly always 
we conversed on religious subjects, especially 
on Holy Communion, and our dear Blessed 
Mother. I taught her the "Hail Mary," and 
gave her a medal. One afternoon she was 
very much depressed. Her minister had 
brought ' i Communion ' ' to her that morning. 
She told him how devout her feelings were 
after receiving, to which he answered: "You 
must not think that this is Transubstantia- 
tion, or what Romanists call the Real Pres- 
ence; it means only a remembrance of the 
body and blood of Christ." She was startled, 
and told him she always received fasting, 



180 THE HAND OF MERCY 

because she believed she received Christ's 
true body and blood. Then he said if she be- 
lieved that she was very near being a Eoman 
Catholic, and she would be a traitor to her 
Church ! I tried to console her by saying that 
her minister told the truth; that what he 
brought her was not Christ's body and blood; 
that the Holy Catholic Church alone has the 
Eeal Presence of Our Lord, and that our 
priests alone can give real Holy Communion 
to the faithful, and bring it to the sick, 
etc. 

" 'For a moment, I felt that my emphatic 
words shook all the religious principles in 
my poor listener. She burst into tears, and 
said : ' i Sister, you must tell me more ; and I 
want to hear what you believe about the Vir- 
gin Mary." I did not say much more, but 
we sent her Catholic literature : The Faith of 
Our Fathers; Truth, and The Missionary 
from the Apostolic Mission House, "Wash- 
ington, D. C. She also read Eev. Eichard 
Alexander's Note Booh of a Missionary. 
The Missionaky particularly penetrated her 
with the deepest reverence for Eev. Father 
Doyle and his noble missionary priest- 
writers: Still, human pride and prejudice 
would not yield to grace. She refused to 
open her heart to a Catholic theologian for 



MARCH SEVENTEENTH 181 

fear he might convince her of the "terrible 
truth !" 

" ' After she read those precious articles in 
Truth written by Rev. Wm. McGarvey in 
September and October, 1908, viz: What is 
the Real Difference Between Catholics and 
Protestants? she became very uneasy, and 
consulted her minister. His answer did not 
satisfy her troubled soul. Shortly after- 
wards he was called to another pulpit, and 
he never visited her again. 

" 'When her friends found our literature 
in her hands they said with horror that she 
was on treacherous ground. They begged 
her to throw away these books as deadly 
poison ; not to allow the serpent to tempt her 
from the religion of her youth, or she would 
lose God's grace and her immortal soul. 

" 'Recounting this to me, she said that she 
was so full of doubt and anxiety that she 
could no longer pray, except the little prayer 
I taught her — ' ' Hail Mary, full of grace. ' ' It 
was always sweet to her. She wanted to 
know more about the Blessed Mother, yet was 
afraid to give herself up to grace. She 
thought she would wait until her health im- 
proved. We redoubled our prayers for her 
in our convent, for we had become deeply 
interested in her. 



182 THE HAND OF MERCY 

" ' After Christmas she asked me to help 
her to prepare for a journey South to a pri- 
vate Protestant hospital to which her husband 
had been advised to take her, and place her 
under the care of a specialist: She went. 
That evening, I complained to our dear 
Blessed Mother: "Are you going to allow 
this soul to be lost?" I said to Our Lady, 
"Dear Mother Mary, we are praying our 
hearts sore for that soul, and you are allow- 
ing her to go to a Protestant hospital to die ! 
Now, you must take care of her ! ' ' And Our 
Lady surely did. 

" i After some weeks the patient was 
brought home. The special treatment was a 
failure. She sent for me at once, but I did 
not go until to-day — the seventeenth of 
March. I knelt beside the bed clasping her 
cold hands in mine, for I saw she was near 
the end. And she whispered this story to 
me: "Dear Sister, you are right; you have 
been right all along. I believe in all the doc- 
trines of your Church; I have long since 
known them, but my pride kept me back until 
our sweet Blessed Mother came to my as- 
sistance ! ' * 

" ']■■ I started; for devotion to Our Lady was 
one of the points that made her stumble. She 
went on : 



MARCH SEVENTEENTH 183 

" ' "I don't know whether it was a dream 
or a vision, or what; but one morning about 
nine o'clock, I was lying awake on my bed. 
I was alone, and perfectly conscious. The 
March sun was coming through my window, 
when all of a sudden a beautiful lady was 
standing close to my bed, leaning a little 
forward toward me, looking at me. I could 
not utter a word. Her eyes were like bril- 
liant stars. It is impossible to describe her. 
She was more than beautiful — graceful, ma- 
jestic. Something that could not be imagined 
in this world. She said in a sweet, low voice, 
' I am the Blessed Virgin Mary;' then: 'and 
I am the Mother of God! My Son does all 
things*.' She paused. I cried: ' Mother! 
Mother! I want to belong to you' — but she 
was gone ! She did not come in by the door, 
nor did she go out that way. I did not see 
her come or go." 

" 'The patient then pleaded for me to 
send for a priest as soon as possible. She 
wanted to be baptized a Catholic and receive 
the Sacraments. Our Lady had extinguished 
her pride, and God's grace overflowed her 
soul. This is the way, Father, it all came 
around.' " 

Thus ended the Sister's narrative. The 
priest's manuscript continued: 



184 THE HAND OF MEECY 

"Now, Father Alexander, I need not tell 
you this was the happiest St. Patrick's Day 
of my life. This favored soul lived only a 
few days. I was called to her bedside once 
more, and she breathed forth her pure spirit 
with these words on her lips: 'My Jesus, 
mercy.' " 

Jfr Jim Jfa Jfr M, 

*3^ "Jv* *7T *w ^T" 

I laid down the manuscript of this dead 
priest with a feeling akin to awe. They had 
met in the great Beyond, and no doubt were 
enjoying God's blessed Presence! They had 
seen our Blessed Lady, and were singing her 
praises I 

How true it is that grace and light never 
fail to come to the sincere and upright of 
heart. 



THE BOY'S CONVERT. 

DID you hear that, Walt?" 
" Hear what 1" 

"There's some one crying in that old 
house." 

"Ah, go on! You're kiddin': Nobody 
lives there." 

"But I heard some one, sure." 

"Let's go and see. If you're foolin' me 
you'd Better watch out!" 

"I ain't foolin\ Come on!" 

The two boys, who were passing a lonely 
part of the suburbs, where only a few 
broken-down shacks were visible, went cau- 
tiously toward a low frame building that 
looked like a deserted stable. On tip-toe 
they slipped to the back and looked in a 
window whose broken panes were stuffed 
with rags. As they looked a deep groan 
seemed to come from the place. It was 
broad daylight — three o'clock in the after- 
noon — yet both boys grew white with fear. 

"I told you so," whispered Jack. Walter 
said nothing. 

185 



186 THE HAND OF MERCY 

"Are you afraid, Walt?" 

"Yes, I'm afraid! Don't let's go any; 
further, Jack." 

"Yes, we will! Let's make the sign of the 
cross and knock at the door." 

"Well, you knock, Jack." 

Both boys made the sign of the cross. 
They were Catholics, faithful pupils of the 
parish school, and they were about thirteen 
years old: If anything, Jack was the 
younger, but that he was the braver was 
evidenced by his boldly knocking at the 
door. 

"Come in, for God's sake, whoever you 
are!" was heard in a muffled, sepulchral 
voice from within. 

This was too much for Walter; he turned 
and fled like a deer down the deserted road, 
not stopping until he reached the paved 
street, where he paused, panting for breath. 
He could see the little house indistinctly now. 
There was no sign of Jack. Quite aware, 
however, that Jack could take care of him- 
self, and being too cowardly to call any one 
lest he might be blamed, he loitered about, 
wondering what had happened. 

And Jack — what became of him? 

When he made the sign of the cross the 
second time, fear left him, and without look- 



THE BOY'S CONVERT 187 

ing around for Walter, he pushed at the 
door. It swung open without difficulty. At 
first it was so dark that he could not dis- 
tinguish anything, but as his eyes grew ac- 
customed to the gloom, he made out a bed in 
the corner, and on it the form of a woman. 
Her thick, white hair was straggling round 
her face, her lips w^ere cracked and dry, 
while her eyes seemed to burn him with their 
intense glow. 

"Oh, little boy," she cried, "won't you get 
me a drink of water? I am dying of thirst." 

Jack picked up a cup that was on the chair 
beside her, and ran out to a pump he re- 
membered seeing near the place. In a min- 
ute he was back. The poor creature sat up, 
seized the cup eagerly, and drank the water 
without stopping until it was all gone; then 
with a sigh she laid the cup on the chair, 
and closed her eyes. 

Jack looked at her. She seemed old and 
miserable: Poverty was stamped on all 
around her. A little stove, a chair or two, 
a table, a wooden box that served for a cup- 
board, and a rag carpet beside her bed — this 
was the furniture of her home. He took it 
in at a glance. 

She opened her eyes and said to Jack 
feebly : 



188 THE HAND OF MERCY 

"You're a good boy — may God bless you! 
I have been sick these two days not able to 
get out of bed, and not a soul has come near 
me. I was pretty well till then, able to cook 
a bit and help myself, but when the cold 
ketched me, I could only lie here and groan. ' ' 

"That's what Walt and I heard when we 
were passing," said Jack. 

"Was there another one?" said the old 
woman. 

"Yes, but Walt got scared, and made 
tracks," said Jack smiling. 

"What's your name, little boy?" 

"Jack Brown, ma'am." 

"Well, Jack Brown, you have the blessing 
of a poor old woman, whose husband is in the 
poorhouse; but she wouldn't go while she had 
even this roof over her head. I want to die 
at home, poor as it is." 

"Haven't you got any children, or any- 
body to help you?" said Jack. 

"Neither chick nor child. I am a lone 
creature sure enough, but if I was only on 
my feet I'd never want. I eat next to noth- 
in' and I make myself a bit of tea when I'm 
hungry. ' ' 

"I'll get my mother to fix you something," 
said Jack. "She's fine. But Mrs. — you 
didn't tell me your name." 



THE BOY'S CONVERT 189 



a- 



'I'm Mrs. Moss; my name is Ellen, 
and I'll be thankful to your mother if she 
can send me something to keep the life in 



me." 



"Well," said Jack, "I'll have to be going. 
Walt will be lookin' for me. I'll be back, 
Mrs. Moss, to-morrow, sure. Ain't you 
afraid all alone by yourself here ? ' ' 

"No, son — nobody ever comes here. I 
never have visitors and I never want them. 
Oh, if I only could get up! Could you get 
me another cup of water? I don't seem to 
need anything else. I'm dried up inside." 

Jack looked around, found an empty pitcher 
and taking the cup and pitcher, filled both 
with water, and brought them in. The poor 
creature looked her gratitude: Tears coursed 
down her withered cheeks. 

"Don't cry, Mrs. Moss," said Jack cheer- 
fully. "I'll be along early to-morrow, and 
maybe mother will come too; she's pretty 
busy in the morning, but I'll bring you some- 
thing before school. Goodby!" 

"Heaven bless you!" said the old woman, 
as Jack carefully closed the door. Once out- 
side, he gave a big whistle, and with his hands 
in his pockets skipped down the road, whist- 
ling all the way. Soon Walter came from be- 
hind a tall sycamore tree. 



190 THE HAND OF MERCY 

"What did you see, Jack?" he said in an 
awed voice, his eyes round and scared. 

"Oh, you baby!" said Jack scornfully. 
"You're a reg'lar sissy. Nothin' but a poor, 
skinny old woman sick in bed that wanted a 
drink of water. Didn't you ever see anybody 
sick in bed? You're a scared-cat, Walt" — 
and Jack grinned. 

"But you were afraid, too," said Walter. 
"You said you were:" 

"I was for a minute. Anybody would be, 
hearin' such groanin', but we both said we'd 
go in, and when I looked round for you, you 
had kited down the street on a Marathon! 
You went like mad, Walt, and that's a fact! 
But she's a poor old woman all right, and 
I'm going to ask mother to let me bring her 
something to eat. She's awful lonesome." 

"I bet on you, Jack," said Walter ef- 
fusively. "Nothin' the matter with you, 
Jack. But there's our Tom beckoning to 
me across the street," and, rather relieved, 
Walter skipped off to his brother. 

Jack went home and told his mother. 
Charitable Mrs. Brown said she would have 
some hot broth ready on the stove next day, 
and when he came home from serving Mass 
(for Jack was a faithful altar-boy), he should 
take the little bucket, bring it to Mrs. Moss 



THE BOY'S CONVERT 191 

before school, and tell her his mother would 
be there during the morning. 

Mrs. Brown was a plain, good Catholic 
woman, with a house full of children and a 
husband who worked in the neighboring mills. 
They were comfortable enough while he had 
steady work and, grateful to God, she never 
refused to share all she had with those poorer 
than herself. The account the lad gave her 
of old Mrs. Moss touched her heart. Next 
morning, when Jack came home from serving 
Mass, he found the little granite bucket on 
the kitchen stove, and carefully carried it 
to Mrs. Moss: He found her extremely 
weak, but she greeted the boy gladly. 

"Lord bless you, boy! I see you are as 
good as your word. Tell your good mother 
I won't be long in this world, and if she has 
a spark of kindness, to come to see me. I 
didn't close an eye last night. It was hard, 
lyin' here, starin' into the darkness." 

"I'll tell her," said Jack, as he poured out 
some of the hot broth, and helped her trem- 
bling hands to hold the cup. 

It was stimulating and strengthening. The 
old creature sipped it greedily, and begged 
for more. Jack gave it to her, and as she 
seemed to be able to hold the cup now, and 
told him she was "a heap better," he said 



192 THE HAND OF MEECY 

he would go ; but, ' ' she must drink it before it 
got cold." His mother would come for the 
little vessel. Then he was off, with a hop and 
a skip, whistling down the street, not know- 
ing that his act of charity was diffusing its 
holy joy all through his innocent being. 

Mrs; Brown visited the poor woman that 
day, and found everything just as the boy had 
described it. She had rallied considerably, 
owing to the nourishing beef tea, and while 
Mrs. Brown tidied up the room and gave her 
some clean linen she had brought she listened 
with maternal pride to the old woman's 
praises of Jack. 

"Yes, he is a good boy; I haye eight of 
them, six boys and two girls. The girls help 
me considerably. Jack, being the eldest boy, 
keeps an eye on the younger ones." 

"What wouldn't I give to have a child 
of my own now?" said Mrs. Moss. "But the 
Good Man took them all." 

"The Good Man," was an expression 
rather new to Mrs. Brown's Catholic ears. 
She knew her patient was not a Catholic; 
but she said nothing. Mrs. Moss with quick 
intuition, resumed: 

"I suppose if you had known I was a 
Lutheran, you wouldn't have much to do 
with me. Aren't you a Roman Catholic?" 



THE BOY'S CONVERT 193 

"Yes, we are Catholics, thank God. But 
it makes no difference what religion a poor 
sick neighbor belongs to, if I can do a good 
turn for her. God Almighty is Our Father, 
isn't He?" 

"Yes," said the woman, "hut my Church 
never bothers about me, and after I got my 
poor husband in the poorhouse because he 
was paralyzed, they never gave me a penny. 
Our Church is mostly for the rich," she said 
bitterly. 

"We mustn't talk about that," said Mrs. 
Brown. "I'll send Jack with broth or a 
couple of eggs every day, and maybe you'll 
get around again, and we might get some 
light work for you. I am so busy at home 
that I can't promise to come often, but I'll 
do what I can. ' ' 

"I'll never forget you!" cried Mrs. Moss, 
"I'll love you to my dying day, and I'll bless 
that fine boy of yours, and pray that the 
Saviour may make him a fine man." 

Mrs. Brown smiled, and declared she would 
have to go, to look after the dinner at 
home. Placing some milk and some good 
bread and fruit at the woman's bedside, she 
left the miserable home in a better condition 
than she found it, and departed, loaded with 
blessings from the sick woman. Thank God 



194 THE HAND OF MERCY 

for the beautiful cliarity of so many of our 
people ! They have nothing superfluous, but 
they share all they have with those poorer 
than themselves, yes, and they teach their 
children the nobility of generosity to God's 
chosen poor, irrespective of creed! How 
often they put the wealthy to shame, as Christ 
did in the case of the poor widow of the 
Gospel! 

After this Jack brought beef tea early 
every morning, or if he went in the after- 
noon he brought more solid food in a little 
basket. Then he usually found Mrs. Moss 
up and seated in an old armchair by the win- 
dow watching for him. Her face would light 
up as he approached, and a shower of bless- 
ings greet him. Jack began to like the old 
woman and to take pleasure in visiting her. 
One morning he found her gasping, her eyes 
fixed, her face deathly white. Jack was sure 
she was dying. His first thought was "the 
priest/ ? but remembering his mother had 
said she was a Protestant, he thought it 
would do no harm to say some prayers. So 
he knelt down at the bedside and began aloud 
the act of Contrition, then the acts of Faith, 
Hope, and Charity, the "Our Father" and 
the "Hail Mary" — the simple prayers of a 
child. When he paused he saw she was bet- 



THE BOY'S CONVERT 195 

ter, that her face was assuming a more 
normal expression. He pressed her to take 
some of the hot beef tea and assisted her to 
do so. She revived, and when he left her 
she was more herself. She told him she had 
these bad spells at times, and knew they 
were weakening. Jack, boy like, didn't know 
what to say. So he said nothing and kept 
quiet about his scare. 

When he went next time it was in the 
afternoon, and Mrs; Moss was sitting by the 
window in her old chair. Her face told Jack 
how welcome he was, and when she shook 
hands with him, he perched himself on top 
of the store-box, and pushed his cap on the 
back of his head. He had lost all sense of 
shyness and spoke to her quite freely. She 
was by no means bad-looking when she was 
"fixed-up," as Jack called it, and to-day, 
with her clean dress and apron, her white 
hair, which was unusually abundant, rolled 
softly away from her forehead, her brown 
eyes sparkling with the pleasure of seeing 
him, she was good to look at. Boys know 
these things as well as grown-ups, and Jack 
felt a sort of pride in his patient. 

"Jack, my boy," said Mrs. Moss, "I can't 
get those fine prayers you said the other day 
out of my head. I never knew any prayer 



196 THE HAND OF MEECY 

but the Saviour's own prayer, 'Our Father 
which art in heaven.' Where did you learn 
them all !" 

"Why, I say them every day. I learned 
them at school. JVe say 'Our Father who' — 
not 'which/ Don't you know the 'Confiteor,' 
and 'Angel of God,' and '0 Sacred Heart'? 
But I forgot, you're only a Lutheran! What 
a pity!" and the boy's face was full of such 
genuine concern that the poor woman couldn't 
be offended. 

Instead, she humbly said: 

"Maybe, it is a pity, Jack, but it's all I 
was raised to. We didn't know much about 
religion in our house. Would you mind say- 
ing those prayers again for me?" 

"No, indeed," said Jack, glad to be of some 
definite use. He took off his cap, knelt down, 
reverently blessed himself, folded his hands, 
and began the act of Contrition; and then 
the other prayers he had said before. Old 
Ellen watched him closely; His eyes were 
cast down, his mind absorbed in what he was 
doing. When he got through, he blessed 
himself, scuttled up on the box, curled his 
feet under him, secured his cap, and in a 
different voice said : 

"Aren't they fine prayers? They are as 



THE BOY'S CONVEBT 197 

old as the Catholic Church, and that is the 
Church that Christ founded. " 

"You seem mighty sure, Jack," said old 
Ellen; "who learned you all that?" 

"Why, it's in my catechism," he retorted, 
"and I heard it in instruction class; I've 
made my First Holy Communion. I'm thir- 
teen years old, you know. ' ' 

"I don't seem to know much about it. I 
never heard tell of the things you have so 
glib on your tongue." 

Jack was touched. He only saw an old 
woman — ages older it seemed than he was, 
and she actually did not know the prayers 
his little brothers said every day, and had 
no religious teaching at all. What a terrible 
state of ignorance! Why, he, he could help 
her! 

"Say, Mrs. Moss, look here," said he with 
animation, "I'm going to bring down my 
catechism, and my prayer-book, and I can 
read them to you." 

"Oh, my good boy!" cried she, "will you 
really? Won't it be a great bother to you 
instead of going to your play? But, oh, I'd 
like it mighty much. I often wonder if the 
Good Man in heaven ever thinks of a poor 
body like me!" 

"If you mean our blessed Lord," said 



198 THE HAND OF MEECY 

Jack, lifting his cap, "I never heard Him 
called such a name as you say; but if you 
mean Him, why, He loves people like you. 
The older they are, the poorer, the sicker, 
the more He loves them, I know that for 
sure. Mother says so, and the Sisters say 
so, and Father Alexander says so ! I'll bring 
down my books to-morrow ; so be ready, Mrs. 
Moss!" and Jack skipped down from the 
box and was off. 

Jack was as good as his word. Next day 
he brought the little catechism and read from 
the first page on through several chapters. 
The poor woman constantly interrupted him 
with questions, and he answered them cor- 
rectly. He felt he was doing something for 
a human soul. The missionary instinct was 
there and he followed it as the Wise Men 
followed the Star. 

He never missed a day now. He went 
through the catechism, at least the Command- 
ments and the Sacraments, and no pupil had 
a more earnest teacher, nor ever had a teacher 
a more eager pupil. Old Ellen was slowly 
seeing the light. God's grace was coming 
to her poor benighted soul. At last she said : 

' ' Jack, do you know what I've been think- 
ing all these days?" 

"No," said Jack, "what is it?" 



THE BOY'S CONVEET 199 

"That it is time for me to be baptized and 
become a Catholic." 

"Do you mean it?" said Jack, jumping up. 
He had not realized all the thoughts and in- 
trospection that took place in old Ellen's 
mind and heart during the long hours he 
was not there. 

"I mean it and I want it!" 

"Then," said Jack, "I've got to bring 
Father Alexander to you." 

"Bring whoever you please. I am long- 
ing to feel the Lord's presence." 

So Jack came to me. 

I was amazed when I heard the particulars 
I have described; and made all haste to visit 
poor Mrs. Moss. I saw at once, although she 
was creeping about doing her own little 
chores, that her hold on life was precarious. I 
questioned her, and found that my altar-boy, 
Jack Brown, had really and truly brought 
this soul to the door of the Church! She 
was his convert, and there was I, within a 
few squares of this poor creature's wretched 
home, unconscious of her existence. She 
begged me to baptize her, as she had not been 
baptized even in the Lutheran Church, and 
I promised I would next day. Then I visited 
Jack's mother, who told me all she knew 
about the case: how she had straightened 



200 THE HAND OF MERCY 

things up at Mrs. Moss's house, how she had 
sent Jack every day with nourishment, and 
who now promised that she would go again 
and fix up for the Baptism. 

The next day poor old Ellen was baptized. 
Jack stood godfather, and he was as rever- 
ent as an angel. After a few more visits, I 
gave her First Holy Communion. Jack was 
there and read the prayers of thanksgiving 
when I left. 

It seemed as if God had prolonged her life 
only to complete the salvation of her soul. 
She grew visibly quieter and weaker after 
her reception of the Sacraments, and one 
afternoon I administered Extreme Unction. 
Jack was present. I could see by his serious 
boyish face that he was deeply impressed. 
Her loving worship of the little fellow was 
touching. It made her happy even to see 
him in the room. Thinking it wiser not to 
take chances in her condition, I gave her the 
last absolution, and a few words of comfort, 
and told her I would be there early next 
morning: 

I went after Mass and found Jack on his 
knees at the bedside. The little fellow did 
not stir as I opened the door. One look was 
enough. Old Ellen was dead. Her face was 
as white as marble, her eyes were closed, 



THE BOY'S CONVERT ^ 201 

and a tender smile, like a mother's, was on 
her lips ! One would not know her, so peace- 
ful and sweet was her countenance. Her 
abundant white hair was pushed back on her 
forehead, and lay on the top of her head; it 
gave a wonderful dignity to her serene fea- 
tures, as if she wore a silver crown. Jack 
looked up, and said, with a big sob choking 
his voice : 

"Father, she died as I came in. She just 
kind of smiled and said: 'God bless you, 
Jack,' and then she shut her eyes. I couldn't 
believe she was dying. Is she really dead, 
Father?" 

I put my arm around the little apostle. 

"Yes, Jack. She is dead and in heaven, 
and, my boy, you have been the big help that 
got her there!" 

We learned from the authorities at the 
poorhouse, or county-home, that her husband 
was dead ; so we buried poor Ellen with High 
Mass, and gave her a place in our Catholic 
cemetery. Jack and I were the only 
mourners who stood beside her humble grave. 



HIS EARTHLY THRONE. 

TT WAS the mission time, and after my 
-*- sermon I had come from the church to the 
rectory. As I passed the parlor I saw an 
elderly lady standing there alone, as if she 
wished to speak to some one. I addressed 
her and gave her a chair. 

She was a woman whose kindly face bore 
an expression of serene content and mother- 
love, with the lines of sorrow sweetened by 
religion: She was no longer young, but her 
bearing commanded profound respect and 
deference. After a few commonplace re- 
marks about the sermon, I waited for her to 
speak. 

"When I hear of God's goodness to the 
world, Father, " she said, "I cannot help re- 
viewing the events of my own early life. 
They were so remarkable, so filled with divine 
mercy, so unusual in their trend, that they 
were evidences of the purest goodness and 
love of God, and worthy of being recorded 
for the edification of the skeptical and the 
worldly. I want to tell you something about 
them. Have you time to listen?' ' 

202 



HIS EARTHLY THRONE 203 

The address and language of this sweet 
old lady charmed me. I took a chair and bade 
her tell me her story; I was interested al- 
ready. 

She then mentioned that she was a con- 
vert ; her husband had died but recently. God 
had blessed them with thirteen children, all 
of whom had done well and were faithful in 
their duty to God and to her. 

"During all those long years, Father, " 
she said, "my husband and I were lovers. He 
never seemed to think I was growing old, 
and his courtesy and devotion were the light 
of my existence. When he died that light 
went out, and I, too, would have died were 
it not for my faith — that faith given to me 
through so much tribulation. 

"I want to tell you, Father, that I am the 
daughter of a Methodist Bishop, reared in 
strictness, and saturated with the Bible. I 
was well educated and given the best that the 
old-fashioned days could offer in solid home 
training and academy instruction. Roman 
Catholics, however, and their creed, were the 
6 scarlet woman' of horror, in my mind — I 
knew none of them, and if I accidentally 
touched one, I felt contaminated: Bigotry 
in those days was more bitter than it i? now. 

"My life was happy and peaceful. As I 



204 THE HAND OE MERCY 

grew near twenty, I met my future husband. 
He was a young lawyer, one of our neighbors, 
bright, clean, ambitious. My heart went out 
to him in answer to his love. In time we 
were married by my father and no young 
couple ever began life with more enthusiasm 
and devotion than we: I was willing to go 
anywhere as long as he was at my side, and 
so I agreed — almost without a pang, in the 
greatness of my love for him — to leave my 
home town, my family and my friends, and 
go to the West with him and his father's 
family to seek wealth and fame. His father, 
too, was a lawyer, and they were deeply 
affectionate and devoted to each other and 
to the new daughter-in-law. 

"We were going to live on a ranch, and 
they had made negotiations, investing every 
penny they had in a perfectly beautiful and 
immensely fertile piece of land adjoining 
a flourishing town — land that came up to 
the very doors of an old-time adobe church 
—a Catholic church, of course. 

"And here the blunder was made that 
brought sorrow and misery and bitterness 
on our lives and threw us into poverty. How 
those two bright lawyers, my husband and his 
father, took such steps without acquiring all 
the information necessary to their negotia- 



HIS EAETHLY THRONE 205 

tions, is a mystery to every one to this day; 
but as it happened, I must believe it to have 
been one of the inscrutable dispensations of 
Providence. 

"We took possession of the land, caring 
nothing for privations. We built ourselves 
a house and barn and prepared the ground. 
How happy I was ! I went singing about my 
work; my strong young hands counted the 
daily inconveniences of life as nothing when 
I looked forward to the evening return of 
my beloved husband — to his hearty greeting 
and embrace. And then my approaching 
motherhood sent a rosy glow over the whole 
world. We were so happy that we cared 
nothing for the rumors and reports that now 
and then reached us about the title to our 
land. 

"Suddenly a heavy cloud fell upon us like 
a thunderbolt — " 

She paused in her narration, and we were 
both silent. I was becoming deeply inter- 
ested, and did not say a word, wondering 
what was next. She soon continued her 
story. 

" Father,' ' she said, and her eyes glowed 
and her cheeks flushed, "I can speak of it 
calmly enough now, but in those days I was 
like a lioness in fury and indignation. One 



206 m THE HAND OF MEECY 

day the United States marshal served a 
notice on us that we were on the land of the 
Catholic Church. The treaty of Guadaloupe- 
Hidalgo, by which the Mexican War was 
ended, guaranteed all church property. Be- 
cause we had built on church land (a fact of 
which we were unaware) our house, our barn, 
our ranch were church property. The priest 
of that Eoman Catholic church claimed all. 
We were beggared if the Eoman Catholic 
Bishop and his priest won the case: We 
were formally sued for trespass and ordered 
off the land. You may be sure our two law- 
yers — my husband and his father — contested 
every inch. 

"The suit was long and bitter. The days 
were full of trouble, misery and forebodings. 
Euin was staring us in the face, for every 
cent my husband and father-in-law had had 
been expended in the buildings and imple- 
ments for farming, and in the preparations 
they had made for a prosperous settle- 
ment. How I hated the Eoman Catholics! 
The name priest or bishop, was enough to fill 
my whole soul with anger. 

"Under these circumstances my first child 
was born. I felt that a new responsibility 
had come to my husband and myself, and now 
that poverty was hanging over us the sweet 



HIS EAETHLY THRONE 207 

joy that should have come with my baby. was 
chilled with apprehension. 

"My love for my husband, my sympathy 
with his troubles, absorbed my whole soul, 
and he appreciated my devotion. Father, 
can you imagine how we felt under such 
circumstances? Could you blame me that 
I hated everything Catholic?" 

"Indeed, my dear friend," I replied, "I 
could hardly imagine a position more trying. 
It is truly a wonder that you ever became 
a Catholic." 

"Ah! Father, you are right," she rejoined, 
' ' and that is what makes my conversion, and 
that of my dear husband so miraculous. Let 
me tell you how it came to pass, and you 
will praise the Lord with me and under- 
stand my desire to make known to the world 
the wonders God wrought in my behalf. I 
used to go over to the village on little er- 
rands, and often when I was lonely I took 
my infant in my arms for a walk in the gay 
sunshine, although my heart was aching. I 
always had to pass the adobe church. I 
did so with my face averted. 

"Once I glanced at it with a sort of curi- 
osity — for there was no one to see me, then 
I stared at it inquisitively, then went around 
it to discover something to mock at. But, 



208 THE HAND OF MEECY 

instead I found a grace and humble beauty 
about its proportions that I hated to ac- 
knowledge. The door was always unlocked, 
as I found one day when I cautiously tried 
it, and I passed in. I could see nothing — 
it was so dark. I fled hastily. But I 
thought about it constantly — at home, at my 
work; when I awoke ,at night, something 
drew me with a force I could not understand 
to the door of that hated little Catholic 
church. In vain I tried to grow angry, as- 
suring myself it was treason to my husband 
and his family to harbor a thought, even a 
curious thought — about a place of worship 
— especially this place which was bringing 
misery and trouble upon our young lives. 
It was useless. When my husband and the 
men went to work I would leave the baby 
asleep with its nurse, and walk quickly down 
the lane until I came to the church. I would 
look at it, walk around it, meeting no one. 
At last one day I boldly opened the door 
and again walked in. 

" A cool silence filled the place. I saw 
nothing but a bright red star half way to 
the ceiling at the upper end. There was not 
a sound; I went on, trembling. Near a por- 
tion that was railed off I saw one or two 
Indian women squatted on their heels, their 



HIS EARTHLY THRONE 209 

hands clasped, their eyes fixed on a little 
door on a long white table hung with white 
linen. They never heeded me — never even 
turned their heads. 

"I sat down on a bench and looked long at 
that door. And then, Father, a strange sweet 
peace came over my troubled spirit, an over- 
whelming sense of the nearness of God, like 
the touch of a strong and soothing hand. 
Father, I believed. I knew the Lord was 
there. In one instant the prejudices of years 
fell off like scales. All my life's traditions, 
all my horror of the superstitions and idol- 
atry of the Catholic Church fell away like 
ashes. A miracle had been wrought in me. 
Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament had drawn 
my tired heart to His divine breast, and — 
I was a Catholic — a believer in the Blessed 
Eucharist. 

"It seemed to me that I could linger there 
forever, drinking in the comfort my thirsty 
soul was longing for. Troubles, heart aches, 
poverty, the pending lawsuit, my husband's 
anger, my own bitterness, all, everything was 
swept away by the torrent of sweetness the 
Divine Presence poured into my soul. The 
red lamp shed its crimson glow on the mo- 
tionless women, on the white altar, on my 
bowed head. I fell on my knees and 



210 THE HAND OF MEECY 

my heart cried out, 'My Lord and my 
God!' " 

She stopped ; the tears had gathered in her 
eyes. My own heart had risen like a lump 
in my throat: Oh ! the goodness, the yearn- 
ing love of our dear Lord — but I said noth- 
ing. She continued: 

"Father, do you not wonder that I say 
that my conversion was a marvel? It began 
then and there, forever. I left the church 
with the peace of faith singing in my heart. 
Secretly I hurried home, my burdens lifted. 
Again and again, as the days passed, I re- 
turned. I learned to pray. 

"But I did not dare to tell my husband 
and father-in-law. They were absorbed in 
their trouble. The litigation in the United 
States courts was raging furiously; and at 
home the words Eoman Church, priest, 
bishop, lands and treaty, were sounded in 
tefms of execration from morning till night. 
How could I dare to say that for weeks 
I had been daily visiting that church, and 
the altar where I firmly believed my God 
reposed day and night? How could I do it? 

"The suit ended; we were beaten and 
ejected. 

"With money I had we managed to tide 
over the crisis, to get on our feet again, 



HIS EARTHLY THRONE 211 

and life went on, while I, speaking to no one, 
sought out the little church and found my 
consolation, my peace, in kneeling before the 
altar — the altar of that religion whose min- 
isters I had heard had robbed us and driven 
us into the street. I could not think of it — 
it did not seem to trouble me there. The 
Lord Himself held me in His arms, and spoke 
to me in the depths of my soul. i Daughter,' 
He said, 'I am thy God who dwells here on 
this altar, and My religion is the Catholic 
religion and none other.' 

"It did not surprise me; I was not agi- 
tated ; I knew it was true ; no argument was 
needed; I knelt and adored; my heart cried 
aloud, Yes, Lord, I do believe! 

"I went about my home with a new joy 
in my heart. I had been taught by God 
Himself. Not a doubt remained. 

"But the making known of my belief ! Oh, 
Father, it was a long struggle — an agonizing 
struggle — between God's grace and my hus- 
band and father-in-law. They fought harder 
for my soul than they did for the ranch. I 
shudder when I look back to it all even now. 
I was forbidden, yes, hindered, from ap- 
proaching that little church so dear to me. I 
suffered all that a woman could suffer for her 
convictions, but my heart was so full of calm 



212 THE HAND OF MEECY 

and peace that I bore it all with serenity; nay, 
gladness. Even my husband marvelled, for 
it was long and bitter. 

"The Church won, even as she did in the 
legal suit, and in the end God shed the light 
of faith on my dear husband's soul. He 
abjured Protestantism and joined me. It 
took time and prayer and patience and long 
suffering. 

"During this I had never spoken to a 
priest. At last I stole away to San Fran- 
cisco, found one, and was received into the 
Church: My husband followed. Our thir- 
teen children have all been baptized: My 
life has had its share of trials, but my Faith, 
the heavenly comfort of my religion, has 
supported me all through, and will I know 
support me to the end. Tell me, Father, 

is not my story a marvel of grace V 9 
# # # # # 

Her eyes were wet, her face glowing as 
she finished. She looked like one of the 
saints of old. I felt like kneeling for her 
blessing— this holy woman in the world, 
whose life had been a beautiful record of 
God's lavish grace corresponded to amid the 
vicissitudes of the ordinary life. She had 
done angels' work in the guise of common 
things. 



THE MAN FROM KERRY. 

\ LONG time ago, a young Irishman from 
*£*• the County Kerry enlisted in the Eng- 
lish army and was sent with his regiment 
to the Crimean war. He was a hot-headed 
fellow, warmhearted, devoted to his country ; 
in fact, wildly enthusiastic when Ireland was 
even mentioned, and brave to a fault. 

On one occasion, however, a party of pri- 
vates of whom he was one became noisy over 
a game of cards, and got into trouble. They 
were put in irons for the night, and when 
morning dawned, Cormac and his comrades 
were brought before their colonel, fined, and 
dismissed with the stern reprimand military 
obedience demands when army rules are 
broken. 

After their punishment they were sent to 
their barracks, but first they were ordered 
to cheer for the Queen. Cormac foolishly 
refused, and for this second misdemeanor he 
was flogged for contempt. He did not utter 
a word, but took his medicine like a man! 
Released, he went back to his company burn- 

213 



214 THE HAND OF MEECY 

ing with indignation and shame, and with a 
bitter heart determined to leave the army as 
soon as his time was up. This he did, re- 
turning to Ireland, and although he loved 
his native sod, the memory of what he con- 
sidered an outrage on his manhood rankled 
so deep that he set out for America — the land 
of the free — as soon as he could get together 
the money for his passage. 

His soldier-life had lessened his hold on 
practical religion, but not on his faith, for he 
always said he was a Catholic: When he 
arrived in America, he devoted his whole 
energy to the accumulation of a fortune and 
the building up of a home. Early and late 
he worked, giving no time to God or to the 
needs of his immortal soul ; but he prospered, 
was successful as the world goes, and looked 
about for a wife. By God's mercy he mar- 
ried a good Catholic girl, and gathered a 
family abo'ut him who were all baptized and 
reared Catholics. Their father never went 
to church. This was a source of great pain 
and sorrow to his devoted wife and 
daughters. 

Once the pastor of his parish called to see 

him, and Mr. C , acutely conscious that 

he was not living according to his convic- 
tions, nor in acknowledgment of the faith of 



THE MAN FEOM KEKRY 215 

his childhood, told the priest that he did not 
mean to bother about religion as long as he 
was honest and humane, a kind husband and 
parent. He intimated to the pastor that he 
would be thankful to be "let alone !" 

His poor wife, mortified and ashamed, tried 

to excuse him to the pastor, but Mr. C 

cut short her excuses, bidding her not to med- 
dle, that he meant every w T ord he said. 

The pastor took his leave. "Nothing can 
be done, except by prayer," he said. 

From thenceforth mother and daughters 
besieged heaven with prayers for the father's 
conversion. Especially did they have re-i 
course to the Sacred Heart The months 
passed by and no effect was visible; the 
father was more obstinate than ever, and 
even found fault when the family went to 
church at any other time than to Mass on 
Sundays. 

One autumn an unusual "cold snap" oc- 
curred. Many persons were unprepared for 
cold weather and were taken ill. Among 

them was Mr. C . Although he fought 

desperately against his illness he was obliged 
to go to bed, and pneumonia set in. When he 
was prostrate and the physician had an- 
nounced the gravity of the case, his favorite 
little daughter with tears besought him to 



216 THE HAND OF MERCY 

allow her teacher, who was a Sister in the 
parish school, to visit him and pray for his 
recovery. To please his little girl the man 
consented. When the two Sisters of Mercy 

entered the room Mr. C received them 

kindly, but told them they must not talk to 
him about religion. He said he would die 
as he had lived, though they could pray all 
they liked ! 

The Sisters saw he was not going to re- 
cover, and one of them begged him to allow 
her, as a favor, to pin a Sacred Heart Badge 
on his breast. He made no objection, and 
then the Sisters knelt down, and, surrounded 
by the broken-hearted wife and family, said 
the Litany of the Blessed Virgin for the 
recovery of his health. In their secret hearts 
they prayed more for the recovery of grace 

for his poor soul ! Mr. C lay quiet with 

his eyes closed, apparently unmoved; When 
the prayers were over, the Sister arose and 
going to the bed, took the sick man's hand. 

"Good-by, Mr. C . I am sorry that 

one of my own countrymen should want to 
die without the Sacraments !" 

The simple directness of the sentence, and 
the almost tearful earnestness of the speaker, 
struck home to the sick man's heart. 



THE MAN FROM KERRY 217 

"One of your countrymen V ' he echoed. 
"Are yon an Irish woman, Sister ?" 

"I am from the County Kerry, not far 
from your mother's home, where you were 
born," said the nnn. 

A strange light shone in the sick man's 
eyes. He grasped the nun's hand and held 
it while his face worked convulsively. 

' i God help me, Sister ! " he said, as the love 
of country awakened the embers of faith 
under the crust of years. "No one will ever 
say I refused a Kerry woman anything she 
asked me." 

"Then," said the Sister, seizing the mo- 
ment when nature helped grace, "in God's 
name go to confession and make your peace 
with Him. The land of our birth must never 
have a record of one of its sons refusing to 
see a priest on his deathbed. Go to confes- 
sion this night and we will storm heaven for 
your precious soul!" 

"I will, Sister! I will!" cried the man. 
"Send the priest to me!" 

The Sister gave a glance at the daughter 
who had brought her to the bedside. The 
girl fled from the room, and with a breathless 
agitation and excitement I could not at first 
understand, burst into my study: 



218 THE HAND OF MERCY 

"Oh, Father, come, come to my papa! He 
is going to die and he wants the priest l" 

I sprang up instantly, grasping my oil- 
stocks, and followed her. The scene that met 
my eyes in that chamber almost moved me 

to tears. Mr. C was lying back on his 

pillows, his hands clasped, his eyes closed, 
while tears trickled down his sunken cheeks. 
The two Sisters were softly reciting the 
Rosary, which was answered by the weeping 
wife and children. When I entered he 
stretched out his hands : 

"Father, do you think God will forgive a 
poor sinner who has not bent his knee for 
thirty years? " 

"Indeed He will, my son! There shall be 
joy in heaven because of what you have said,, 
more than if ninety-nine just were singing 
God's praises, when you return to your 
Father's house:" 

It was surely a, case of God's infinite 
patience and love, the positive answer to 
prayer, and the happy accident of the good 
nun mentioning the Irish home that was en- 
twined with the roots of his heart. He was 
a completely changed man, a true penitent, 
and received the Sacraments with edifying 
devotion. He died in a few days, peaceful 
and resigned, the good Sister who had been 



THE MAN FROM KERRY 219 

so truly his friend reading the beautiful 
prayers of the Church for the dying. The 
little badge of the Sacred Heart which they 
took from his breast when his heart was 
stilled, is a precious relic in the family, and 
devotion to the Sacred Heart is most fer- 
vently observed by mother and children, 
whose faith is strengthened more than ever 
by this wonderful conversion. 

loving Heart of Christ, may we ever 
cling to Thee, and in all our anxieties and 
trials may this be the prayer of our souls : 

" Sacred Heart of Jesus! we place our 
trust in Thee." 



"GOD CALLED ME. 55 

TTTE who have lived our lives in the Church 
* r of God know little of the struggles and 
falterings of those who have found the truth 
after many years. No romance, no tale of fic- 
tion, can surpass in pathos, interest, or 
wonder, some of these life stories. I heard 
one from the lips of a recent convert, and 
she has allowed me to reproduce it, suppress- 
ing names as much as possible. I shall give it 
mostly in her own words. 

It was a beautiful evening, and we were 
seated on a wide veranda in full view of a 
range of Pennsylvania hills that rose up 
against the sky, eternal and sublime in their 
immutability. The peace and calm were in- 
describable. I think my narrator felt this as 
she unfolded her story. With great sim- 
plicity she began : 

"You have asked me, Father Alexander, 
to tell you something of my life. I am glad 
to do so. Some lives are stranger than fic- 
tion, and I think my life has been unusual, 
at least in its varied incidents. If any one 

220 



"GOD CALLED ME" 221 

had told me in the long ago that I should ever 
recount them to a Eoman Catholic priest in 
the security and friendship with which I am 
now speaking to you, I would have treated 
that person as an inventor of myths and 
fables." 

She smiled and then continued: 
"I was born in Edinburgh, Scotland. My 
mother was born in Queensferry, eight miles 
from Edinburgh, in the house which is de- 
scribed in the first chapters of Robert Louis 
Stevenson's novel, i Kidnapped.' She was the 
sixth child and only daughter of her parents. 
Her father was minister of the Kirk in 
Queensferry for thirty-seven consecutive 
years, and was known as 'the gude minister. ' 
He was a most devout man, a deep student 
and a learned scholar. With his six sons he 
educated 'six sons of gentlemen,' in all that 
phrase implies in Great Britain, and my 
mother was educated with them like a boy. 
Latin and Greek, French, German and Italian 
were her daily portion from early childhood ; 
ancient and modern history ; the grammar, of 
course, of all the languages besides English, 
and something of the sciences. But, as she 
hated mathematics, these were dropped as 
soon as she had courage to rebel. Her mother 
(my grandmother) was also the daughter of 



222 THE HAND OF MEECY 

a minister of the Kirk and had been also 
largely educated by her father, but from the 
age of fourteen to nineteen she attended the 
'Miss Primrose Boarding School for Young 
Ladies/ a famous finishing school described 
in one of Miss Ferrier's novels. 

"My grandmother was an exceptionally 
fine musician, and also had a beautiful, well- 
cultured voice. My mother had the advantage 
of this education and played excellently ; her 
voice was sweet and tender. My grand- 
mother was extremely devout, well fitted to 
be the daughter of one minister and the wife 
of another, noted in their generation for 
piety and scholarship: I am going into these 
details, Father, to show that a religious 
strain is often a matter of heredity. 

"My father was born in London. His 
father was the son, grandson and great 
grandson of a long line of merchantmen — 
that is, shipowners, who traded with foreign 
countries (India largely). My grandfather 
was a younger son, and became a civil en- 
gineer and a 'Koyal Geographer'; — making 
maps for the government. He was one of 
the pioneers in the railroad field, and sur- 
veyed the first railroad in Spain. My 
brother, who was in Spain last year, says 
they are still using their first equipment in 



"GGD CALLED ME" 223 

some places. Grandfather might have died 
a railroad king, but he lost his wife in child- 
birth, with their child, and in Eis sorrow gave 
up all his interests: He bought an estate in 
Queensf erry and retired there with a widowed 
sister. He gradually became morose and ec- 
centric, although sought out by celebrities 
for his extraordinary knowledge on all sorts 
of subjects. Louis Agassiz often stayed 
several weeks at 'Boss Hill,' while, too, Her- 
schel and a long list of others came. So my 
father and his four brothers had a far 
broader education than their tutor or their 
grandfather gave them out of books. The 
boys were educated at home. 

"My father and mother knew each other 
as children and w r ere married young. Two 
years after their marriage, or shortly after 
I was born, they removed to Liverpool, where 
my two brothers were born: There were 
only three of us, one girl (myself) and two 
boys. In Liverpool the kirk was at a great 
distance, so my mother, who liked the An- 
glican Church service, went to the nearest 
church, and in it my two brothers were bap- 
tized. My father, when he inherited his 
share of the paternal estate, came to America 
on the invitation of his two brothers and be- 
came a cotton broker, but he was ruined in 



224 THE HAND OF MERCY 

the Civil War. We had all come to America 
when I was only nine years old. 

' ' They called me a precocious youngster, 
and I guess I was, for I really had no child- 
hood, being the constant companion of my 
highly educated grandmother. I read the 
Bible before I was five and wrote well, as 
my copybooks show. I was better versed 
in religion than fairy tales. I was especially 
fond of the Psalms and knew many of them 
by heart; their sonorous rhythm attracted 
me more than anything I knew. I often 
think how strange and mature I must have 
seemed to the school children of those days ! 
I went to the grammar school with girls of 
sixteen and had a wider knowledge of Euro- 
pean history than was then taught in the 
high school. All this was home training 
and inheritance, and thus I had no tendency 
to self-conceit, which was frowned down at 
home as insufferable. As it was, all I knew 
was just my natural life, and it never oc- 
curred to me that others were different. I 
hated the schools, and I hated being there 
with boys. I didn't care to make girl friends 
because my mother was my 'chum,' and I 
rarely felt the need of another. 

"As it is of interest to trace an inherited 
tendency to religious devotion, so it is to 



"GOD CALLED ME" 225 

look back to my first knowledge of anything 
Catholic: 

i i Cardinal Newman mentions finding in an 
early school book his initials, surrounded 
by a rosary, although at that time he had 
never seen or heard of a rosary. My first 
recollection of realizing the existence of the 
Catholic Church was when I was twelve 
years old. I had the early impression that 
i Catholics ' were entirely beneath social 
recognition, and I remember with what a 
curious feeling I came to regard a lady I 
used to meet every morning on my way to 
school. Whatever was the weather, I al- 
ways met her. She had attracted me from 
the first, because she had the look of my 
grandmother, a perfect gentlewoman, quiet, 
dignified, gentle, calm and unhurried. I 
asked questions about her, for I began to 
love her. I discovered to my amazement 
that she was the mother of a big, bluff elder 
in the Presbyterian Church which we at- 
tended, but that she was a Catholic, a con- 
vert to the Roman Church. Every time I 
saw her I would say to myself, 'Oh! how, 
and why, did you, lovely woman, come to 
believe in the Eoman Catholic Church?' I 
had an idea that one had to be born a Eoman 
Catholic. 



226 THE HAND OF MERCY 

"Then I remember going one day with 
another girl into a Catholic Church. It must 
have been some great feast day. It was in 
the summer, and we pushed through the 
crowd until in some way we got into a gal- 
lery and looked down on the altar. I re- 
member a bell ringing and the people bow- 
ing low, and I saw a man near me strike 
his breast. I was filled with wonder and 
awe: I wanted to go away and I wanted to 
stay. I did not tell my mother where I had 
been. There was a large monastery in the 
town, Franciscan, and also a convent. As I 
grew older I used to meet the quiet, gentle- 
faced nuns on the cars, and I used to wish 
I was a nun, to be out of the changes and 
perplexities of this world. 

"For my troubles began early enough. 
At thirteen I looked eighteen; at fourteen 
a man of twenty-eight was my suitor. 

"About this time my mother had grave 
cause to dislike the action of the Presbyterian 
Church, so she left it and, to my great satis- 
faction, went to the Episcopal Church. I had 
known no other until we came to America, and 
I disliked the bare Presbyterian service. So 
my mother and I were confirmed together 
when I was about fifteen. Now, although I 
went to church every Sunday and liked the 



"GOD CALLED ME" 227 

service, I found I had nothing left of the 
religions devotion I had imbibed from my 
grandmother. My head was full of company 
and having a good time. I graduated from 
high school at sixteen, and put in all my time 
cultivating my voice and taking dramatic 
lessons; for I had made up my mind to go 
on the stage. When I was between nineteen 
and twenty, the one friend of my life for 
whom I cared quarreled with me about it. 
But I got letters to influential people and 
went to New York. I got a part in a D'Oyley 
Carte opera company, but almost immediately 
I met the one whom I eventually married, and 
he persuaded me to give it all up and go 
home. This I did. 

"We were married in 1882. When I mar- 
ried, although I did not at first love my hus- 
band as I did my former friend, yet I cared 
for him sincerely, and was absolutely true 
to him in thought, word and deed. After the 
children came, I had no other ambition in the 
world than to be a good wife and mother. I 
bore six children in ten years ; two little girls 
died in early infancy, but I took my brother's 
daughter when her mother died. She was 
then three years old. I have raised five 
children. My oldest boy was a difficult char- 
acter, with a violent temper. At fourteen he 



228 THE HAND OF MEECY 

enlisted in the navy. It was an overwhelming 
grief to me, but it was best. 

"I fretted over this and many other things, 
for my life was not smooth. Then a friend 
asked me if I would like to go with her to 
make a retreat A retreat? I only knew it 
meant some place where for a few days I 
could be alone and not be obliged to speak to 
any one. The retreat was at Kemper Hall, 
a large boarding school conducted by the 
Sisters of St. Mary, an Episcopalian sister- 
hood. Father H , of the Episcopal Order 

of the Holy Cross, was the conductor, and 
there I heard for the first time the doctrine of 
the Eeal Presence, the Seven Sacraments, 
the importance and necessity to the spiritual 
life of sacramental confession, prayers for 
the dead, the invocation of the saints and that 
the Episcopal Church was ' truly Catholic. ' 

"Father H -'s meditations were deeply 

spiritual. I fairly devoured his teaching. I 
made my first confession, and returned home 
like one recreated. At the close of that re- 
treat, June 24, 1899, I offered my life to Our 
Lord in the Blessed Sacrament of the altar 
— I laid my will there. I took the mother of 
St. Augustine as my patron, and vowed my- 
self to a life of devotion for my son and all 
my children. 



"GOD CALLED ME" 229 

"Each year after that I went to retreat. 
Every month I went to confession. I took 
upon myself all sorts of ' works' and, in fact, 
went beyond my strength. In August of 1899 
I was seized with violent illness, terminating 
in nervous prostration. I was six months in 
my room and six months in a sanitarium. 

"I came home to find a very distressing 
state of affairs, which changed the whole 
complexion of my life. Had it not been for 
my love and devotion to our blessed Lord I 
must have lost my mind. I began going 
every day to my church, where I prayed as 
never in my life before. Finally (at my age) 
I went to a business college, studied day and 
night, and was soon able to take a position 
as secretary and stenographer. Only God 
knows all my mental anguish during those 
months! Before going to my work I went 

to church each morning, so that Father B 

(he is now in the true Church) could have a 
daily ' celebration. ' Episcopalians are afraid 
to say 'Mass.' Every evening I went in and 
knelt before a little altar where the Blessed 
Sacrament was supposed to be reserved. I 
was one of a mere handful who believed in 
1 Catholic teaching,' and Father B be- 
came my confessor, director, and friend. 

"When Father H first taught me 



230 THE HAND OF MEECY 

the Catholic doctrines of his creed, he stren- 
uously impressed on his hearers that the 
Episcopal Church was Catholic, in spite of 
her Protestant name, and presented his- 
torical and theological arguments to prove 
it. Yet, even in the first ardor of my ac- 
ceptance of Catholic doctrines, my mind was 
so full of argument against the claims for 
Catholicity made by the Episcopal Church 
that I had continually to fortify myself with 
literature proving its Catholicity. I myself 
— the real Ego — was never convinced, but 
I forced myself to accept the proofs pre- 
sented because Father H and Father 

B , my learned confessor and director, 

accepted them. I felt that it would be rash 
presumption to doubt where these learned 
men, my teachers, accepted. 

"Sometimes the doubts were so strong' 
that I had to cry out for special help. You 
may remember I told you of the special 
visit Father H— — made to me. I told him 
all my doubts and questionings without re- 
serve. I again forced Ego to accept his 
answers, but Ego was never convinced. 

"To my mind, the very first note of Cath- 
olicity was wanting from the Episcopal 
Church. A Church to be Catholic must be 
one. Hence, in all the years I accepted and 



"GOD CALLED ME" 231 

practiced Catholic doctrine, I had to 
strangle my doubts of the Catholicity of 
the Episcopal Church. Sometimes I really 
thought the doubts were forever dead — 
then perhaps a heated Anglican argument 
for, revived to more active life than before 
all my doubts against. I can say in all sim- 
ple truth that no one ever tried harder to 
be loyal to the Episcopal Church than I. I 
have lately been re-reading Cardinal New- 
man's ' Apologia/ and I find that all un- 
known I have trod the same path as 'the 
noblest Eoman of them all.' I may say 
further : In all the years which have passed 
since I accepted Father H- 's presenta- 
tion of Catholic faith I have never read a 
single anti-Anglican book. Everything I 
read was entirely pro-Anglican, and my 
weekly diet w T as The Living Church, from 
cover to cover. 

"But within the past eighteen months I 
removed to the great Western city which is 
now my home. I knew there were only a 
few Episcopalian churches where there was 
' Catholic service,' without this fact seriously 
disturbing me, until I made the change from 

the devotional surroundings Father B 

had so persuasively fostered. Arrived in 
the city, I was like a bird without a nest. 



232 THE HAND OF MERCY 

I tried faithfully to continue the life of de- 
votion on which Father H had started 

me and which I had followed without break 
throughout more than a decade of years. 
But in my new home the necessary environ- 
ment was not supplied by the Episcopalian 

Church. Father H had taught me that 

confession was necessary to spiritual growth 
(and who dares deny it who once has prac- 
ticed it?). In this city one scarcely dares 
speak the words, 'the Eeal Presence.' Only 
a ' memorial. ' Baptism a necessity? i That's 
one of the High Church clergy fads.' (I 
heard the rector of a large and fashionable 
church say this in the course of his sermon 
the last time I was in an Episcopal church.) 
"I often thought of the hours I had spent 
in the silent darkness before an altar on 
which a red light perpetually burned; but. 
no Episcopal church in the city allowed 
'such Romish practices.' The hours thus 
spent in the years past had helped me in 
many a trial of sorrow or perplexity. Do 
you wonder then that in my hunger and lone- 
liness I went to the Catholic Cathedral and 
knelt for hours where I Jcneiv without doubt 
my dear Lord dwelt in His Sacramental 
Presence? But I was not present at a single 
service of any kind. I did not speak to a 



"GOD CALLED ME" 233 

single human being. I read no i Roman lit- 
erature/ and the Anglican ' Treasury' was 
my only prayer-book. 

"I had no more idea of leaving the Epis- 
copal Church than you have of leaving the 
Catholic Church at this moment, Father. I 
only went to the Cathedral to worship my 
dear Lord in His Sacramental Presence as 
I had been taught by Father H— — and 
other Anglicans. On one Saturday after- 
noon, July 3, 1909, I went to the Cathedral 
to rest. My business life had been for some 
time exceedingly and unusually difficult, and 
in my domestic life were many perplexities; 
How I craved confession and more even than 
this — direction ! How I needed these spirit- 
ual helps ! So I went on this afternoon, the 
end of a particularly trying week, and knelt 
for a long time before the crucifix, close to 
the beautiful altar dedicated to the Sacred 
Heart, and, looking up, I realized what a 
help to our poor, weak understanding are 
the representations of our dear Lord. I 
looked up into that tender face and saw those 
outstretched arms, and I could almost hear 
the voice, 'Come unto Me all ye that are 
weary and heavy laden,' as I gazed into that 
pain-stricken face and thought of what He 
bore for me. 



234 THE HAND OF MERCY 

"I knelt on, taking no note of time — not 
praying much, but just comforted. Later in 
the afternoon I went and sat in the first pew 
in front of the high altar, still not praying 
much or thinking much, just peaceful and 
comforted, like a tired child in its mother's 
lap. Almost idly I watched the people come 
and go, young and old, men and women, 
girls and boys, rich, poor and the large mid- 
dle class — all represented in the procession 
of humanity who come to lay their cares, 
sorrows, hopes, desires, whatever these may 
be, before their Friend, who is always ready 
to listen. 

"At last a distinct thought stood out in 
my mind. In what other church could one 
see such a procession — a church where no 
service is going on? 

"The shadows lengthened, the priests left 
the confessionals, the church was empty. 
Empty! with the all-pervading Presence! I 
was conscious of nothing else. No, I cannot 
explain it any further or tell any more ex- 
cept that I knew God's will for me, and with 
the Blessed Mother I said: i Behold the 
handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me ac- 
cording to Thy word.' 

"That was my conversion.. 

"When it began to grow dark, I went 



"GOD CALLED ME" 235 

slowly down the long aisle ; and so home like 
one in a dream. I said nothing. I ' pon- 
dered it in my heart.' The next day, Sun- 
day the fourth, I went as usual with the 
children to the Episcopal church. The 
bishop of the diocese made a stump speech 
for tariff revision. I have no time in my 
busy life for politics, so I cannot say just 
what the point was about which he was so 
wrought up, but it is the simple bald truth 
that his sermon was about tariff revision, 
and that he asked his congregation to offer 
their intention for a ' proper revision of the 
tariff/ How I thanked God that He had 
called me home! The last Sunday I was in 
an Episcopal church the rector of a large 
and fashionable congregation made a furious 
onslaught on the ■ fads' of the 'High Church 
clergy' and with the remark I have previ- 
ously quoted in relation to baptism. 

"I think you will see from this that no 
human being converted me to the Catholic 
Church. After I had spent the time of lei- 
sure of my month's vacation testing the 
reality of my conversion in various ways, 

I wrote to Father B , my late confessor, 

who was one of the 'seventeen' to enter the 
Church at the same time. Through him I 
had the privilege of receiving my instruction 



236 THE HAND OF MEECY 

from the chaplain of the S Convent. 

I was received into the one true Church in 
the convent chapel on December 23, made 
my first communion Easter morning in the 
same dear place, and was confirmed in the 
Cathedral on Pentecost. 

"You remind me that I must not expect 
to find no difficulties. Our dear Lord suf- 
fered in and for His Church, and can I ex- 
pect to find no thorns? Ah, no! I did not 
leave the Episcopal Church because it was 
hard. I left because God called me and 
showed me the living, breathing body of 
Christ on earth, and I could not then be con- 
tent with an automaton, however skilfully 
constructed: But no one can see what I saw 
until one has been on both sides. 

i i I believe the day will come when all who 
have the grace to accept the fundamentals 
of Catholic faith in the Episcopal Church 
will embrace the whole truth in the Catholic 
Church. The largest proportion, by far the 
larger proportion, of people and clergy in 
the Episcopal Church are thoroughly and 
entirely Protestant, and when this Protestant 
affiliation is accomplished for which so many 
are working, the only logical thing for those 
who love the Catholic faith is to come home. 



"GOD CALLED ME" - 237 

It seems to me that the Bishop of F has 

a vision of this. God give him grace ! 

" Never since July 3, the day of my con- 
version, have I had one scintilla of doubt, 
not a moment of wavering, of hesitation. I 
am as sure that God called me as I am that 
I live. Therefore, nothing of the careful and 
exhaustive instruction I received from the 
deeply spiritual and learned priest, under 
whose guidance it was my great privilege to 
be placed, seemed either strange or difficult. 
The ' differences' between the Anglican teach- 
ing I had received and Catholic doctrine and 
practice were taken up one by one, and all 
my innumerable questions answered to my 
fullest satisfaction. 

"A recent convert wrote to me that I would 
miss the 'incomparable liturgy' of the Epis- 
copal Church. I expected to miss, not only 
the Mass in English, but the hymns, etc. 
It is only the simple truth that I miss nothing 
in this ordinary sense of the word. I am 
perfectly satisfied and content, and this does 
not admit the possibility of a sense of loss." 



THE BADGE OF THE SACRED HEART. 

n^HE sunset came, like a glory, into the 
-*- open windows of a pretty suburban home 
in West Philadelphia, and, like a mockery, 
enveloped with a rose-glow the form of a 
white-faced, middle-aged woman who stood 
near the waving lace curtains with a telegram 
crushed in her clenched hands. The stamp 
of agonized mother-love was on her face, 
and she raised her tearful eyes to the glow- 
ing sky with a cry on her lips: 

"0 God, let me get there in time!" 

Then, with quick movements, she began 
preparations for the journey of hundreds of 
miles through the night, to the bedside of her 
son: 

This was the telegram: 

"Your son is dying. Pneumonia. Come 
at once. Head-nurse, City Hospital, Hamil- 
ton, Ohio." 

In the City Hospital at Hamilton, two 
nurses with pained faces stood by the bed- 
side of a finely-framed, handsome boy of 
about twenty-three, who was gasping for 

238 



BADGE OF THE SACRED HEART 239 

breath in the throes of pneumonia. One nurse 
held her finger on his pulse, the other was 
taking his temperature. Their eyes met, and 
said plainer than words: "No hope!" The 
doctor came in again and prescribed more 
remedies, with the air of one determined to 
fight a hopeless case to the bitter end. 

In the boy's ravings the words, "Mother! 
Mother! I am so sick!" were continually 
on his lips, as if the thought of her brought 
relief ; and that mother was rushing through 
the night to see his dying face as fast as 
steam could carry her. Then came words 
that told his religion. He was a Catholic. 
The hospital was a non-Catholic institution, 
but all creeds were welcome. 

There was one solitary Catholic nurse. She 
had just entered the room ; she looked at the 
patient's chart and at the pale face on the 
pillow. Her practiced eye saw the lines of 
death, and hurrying to the head-nurse she 
asked if the patient had seen the priest. He 
had; and a load was taken from her heart. 
Rut she thought of the mother who was jour- 
neying to that bedside, and her sympathy 
went out to her. She knew, according to 
human reckoning, that she would never see 
him alive. 

Strong in her faith, that Catholic nurse 



240 THE HAND OF MERCY 

lifted her heart to the Heart in whom we 
never trust in vain. 

"Sacred Heart, " she prayed, "I place my 
trust in Thee! Save him for his mother!" 
and going to the deathbed she took a Sacred 
Heart Badge from her own bosom and fas- 
tened it to the breast of the patient. No one 
uttered a protest ; they knew that ' ' Miss Sny- 
der was a Catholic," and that the patient 
was one also. 

That night she sat beside him waiting for 
the end. How she prayed that his mother 
might come ! How she listened to the broken 
words of "poor O'Brien," and heard him 
mutter: "Mother! Mother!" until her heart 
was sore! And there was no mother near 
to wipe away the death-damp, to moisten 
those blackened, parched lips*. No one but 
a stranger! No wonder every tender chord 
in her heart was touched, and her earnest 
prayer went up in pleading to the pitiful 
Heart of Christ for the poor mother who at 
that time was sitting, dry-eyed and tense, 
in the flying train that was nearing the city 
where her boy was dying. 

Midnight came. The boy's hand groped 
over the coverlet, and touched the Badge of 
the Sacred Heart. It stayed there. Again 
the nurse's prayer went upwards. A few 



BADGE OF THE SACRED HEART 241 

struggles! A quiet breath! The crisis was 
passing. The nurse scarcely breathed. Then 
there was a better breath — a slight improve- 
ment; the pulse became stronger! He was 
gradually coming back from the grave. He 
would live! Thank God! Oh, the glad re- 
lease from the strain! It was almost too 
much! 

Morning came. The weary mother arrived. 
Her boy was alive, and she was told that he 
would live. She broke down and wept for 
joy. When she was calm she was taken to 
his bedside. He did not know her yet, and 
her heart almost broke when she saw the 
ravages disease had made, but he steadily 
improved from that time, and she never left 
him. When some days had passed he told 
her he had found the Sacred Heart Badge 
on his breast, and said to her : 

"Sick as I was, Mother, I felt it there.' 9 

The nurse who waited on him faithfully 
shook her head when the doctor said: "My 
man, you owe your life to this little nurse.' ' 

She was not a Catholic, but she said to 
Miss Snyder, who had placed the Badge on 
his breast: "It was not the doctor, nor was 
it myself, but the Sacred Heart of Christ!" 

Then she procured a Badge for herself and 
wore it continually. To a friend of hers, who 



242 THE HAND OF MERCY 

came to the hospital for a serious operation, 
she loaned the sacred emblem, and when the 
operation was over, the patient said, on re- 
turning it : 

"I cannot tell you the strange effect of 
this little Badge ; it gave me courage. I feel 
as if it brought me through. Get one for 
me ; I will pay anything for it. ' ' 

The head-nurse asked for a Badge for her- 
self and one for her mother, and both wear 
them constantly: Through this non-Catholic 
hospital the love for the Sacred Heart is 
spreading silently and steadily, in ways only 
the dear Master knows. 

The happy mother departed with her con- 
valescent boy, and the nurses, believing with- 
out knowing it in the mercy of the Sacred 
Heart of Jesus, are steadily moving toward 
His greater love and faith. Lovers of the 
Sacred Heart, pray that these souls, 'and 
many more, may be gathered to the tender 
Bosom of the Good Shepherd. 




THE GOOD SHEPHERD 



THE DIVINE MAGNET. 

XTEAES ago, in the environs of Salt Lake 
■*■ City, a young girl of fourteen, the 
daughter of Brigham Young, strolled one day 
near the now famous Beehive. She had seen 
her father from afar and noted a stranger 
with him. She was a bright, graceful girl, 
and one of her father's favorite daughters, 
and when he smiled and beckoned she sprang 
to meet him. 

1 ' This is my daughter Martha, " said the 
so-called prophet. "And daughter, this is 
a Catholic priest, Father Walsh. " 

The priest bent his kindly eyes on the girl, 
and she, extending her hand looked long into 
his face. A quiver passed over her features ; 
she was visibly moved at the appearance of 
the stranger, but she said not a word. 

Dressed in his black cassock, tall and well 
built, with a finely-chiseled, clean-shaven 
face, something went forth from his coun- 
tenance that thrilled the girl like an electric 
arrow. She bowed her head, but she never let 
the stranger out of her sight. 

243 



244 THE HAND OF MEBCY 

Brigham Young led the priest to the as- 
sembly of the elders, at which were gathered 
throngs of the people. These assemblies 
were then held under a grove of beautiful 
trees, called the " Bowery, " a spot now oc- 
cupied by the wonderful Tabernacle and the 
Temple of the Mormons: He mounted the 
platform where the apostles and elders of 
the Mormon Church were seated. There, in 
a few well-chosen words, he told the people 
that the visitor was a Catholic priest, a rep- 
resentative of the great Mother-Church of 
Christendom, and a man possessed of more 
than human power. The news quickly 
spread, and in a short time crowds of men, 
women and children gathered in close to hear 
the stranger speak. 

Father Walsh made an earnest talk in 
which he said he had come to Utah, and par- 
ticularly to Salt Lake City, to gather the few 
Catholics together and minister to their 
spiritual needs. He did not fail to improve 
the opportunity of explaining the rock-foun- 
dation of the Catholic Church, and her claim 
on the world, and ended with an exhortation 
to all Christians to think of their immortal 
souls. 

Martha never took her eyes from the 
speaker as she sat among the young people 



THE DIVINE MAGNET 245 

near the platform. Father Walsh left the 
place later, thanking Brigham Young for 
the courtesies extended, and when Martha 
looked up into his face as he turned to go, 
he placed his hand upon her head with a 
silent blessing. 

From that moment the girl's heart yearned 
toward the Catholic Church. But she was 
carefully watched. She was fond of reading, 
and was given any book and every book save 
one that might explain or even mention the 
Catholic faith. The atmosphere of the Bee- 
hive repelled her. Often she stole away to 
St. Mary Magdalen's church for Benediction, 
and hiding in some remote place she would 
gaze with rapt wonder on the brilliantly- 
lighted altar and the Sacred Host enthroned 
there*. She felt the wonderful attraction of 
the Blessed Sacrament. 

"Oh!" she cried in her soul, "it must be 
God. My heart tells me so ! Oh, if I could 
only know something about it ! " 

But she dared not speak. She went regu- 
larly to the Beehive and prayed, but the skies 
were like brass. Her soul was frozen. 

The years passed by; she continued to steal 
to the Catholic church to pray, always dread- 
ing to be found out. In her heart she said, 
"Some day I will find what the Catholic 



246 THE HAND OF MERCY 

Church teaches! Heavenly Father, bring 
me to the true religion V 9 

A graceful, attractive girl like Martha 
could not long be without admirers, and she 
was wooed and won by a good man, a Mor- 
mon, who married no other woman. After 
the birth of two children, her husband died. 
Her heart still yearned toward the Catholic 
faith, but she always held back from meeting 
those who might have assisted her in her 
inquiries. 

Walking through the streets of Salt Lake 
City one day with her two little children, she 
saw Archbishop Allemany. Like a flash the 
memory of the tall stranger who had ad- 
dressed her people, years ago, came back to 
her, and she paused and looked at the prelate 
with such an intense gaze that he, too, stopped 
and asked what he could do for her. She 
was well dressed, of course, and her children 
also. Evidently it was not a case of poverty. 
She blushed deeply and in her embarrassment 
murmured, "I am a Mormon V? The Arch- 
bishop smiled, and placing his hands on the 
curly heads of the children, blessed them, 
and raising his hat, passed on. 

She continued her walk abstractedly: On 
her return home she felt that the crisis had 
come ; she could no longer remain away from 



THE DIVINE MAGNET 247 

the Church that was drawing her with ir- 
resistible strength to itself. 

She had not lived this long without hear- 
ing harsh things and cruel things about the 
Catholic religion. She had heard the usual 
falsehoods, the stereotyped slanders, but her 
heart flung them to the wind. She only be- 
lieved that there was an altar in that Church 
and Christ dwelt there. The Blessed Sacra- 
ment was the Divine Magnet that drew her 
soul. She resisted no longer ! 

She had never spoken to a Catholic since 
the good priest had stood beside her father, 
Brigham Young, and addressed the people 
at the beginning of his mission in Salt Lake 
City. She had never met a priest, never 
read a Catholic book, but she had heard that 
every one must be baptized in order to be 
saved. 

Eestless and disturbed, she took her two 
children to a Catholic church one day. She 
knelt far away from observation, praying 
to God to let her find the light. The pastor 
was inspired to speak to her. He addressed 
her courteously and asked her if he could 
serve her. In a half -frightened manner she 
asked if her two little children could be 
baptized. He invited her to the rectory, and 
there skilfully drew from her all the story, 



248 THE HAND OF MERCY 

wondering at the infinite goodness of God. 
Knowing that the Mormons did not believe 
in the baptism of children, he told her gently 
he must be assured the children would be 
reared Catholics. With whom could she place 
them? Then came the cry of her heart: 

< < Oh, sir ! Couldn 't / be a Catholic ? ' ' 

Here was the moment of grace ! God's min- 
ister seized it. 

"Most certainly, my child! I will instruct 
you myself. " 

He did so. Martha, the daughter of the so- 
called prophet, Brigham Young, received in- 
struction like an eager child in the doctrines 
of Catholicity, and with her two little children 
was baptized in the Holy Catholic Church. 
In due time she received the Blessed Sacra- 
ment of the Eucharist, that Magnet of souls 
toward which her heart had been so irresist- 
ibly drawn. She lives to this day, a fervent 
convert, and never tires of giving praise and 
thanks to God who called her to Him in her 
innocent girlhood, and kept her desires alive, 
until at last, at the foot of the altar, she 
found peace t 



"BETTER THINGS." 

THE telephone rang loudly in my room. 
"Well?" I asked. 

"Are you Father so-and-so?" 

"I am." 

"This is the X Hotel." 

"Yes?" 

"My husband is very ill. Can you come 
to the Hotel— Room 400?" 

"I will come at once." 

The voice was feminine, beseeching, and 
full of sorrow: The hotel was one of the fine 
hotels of the city. 

I took the holy oils and set out on my 
mission. I found the lady to be a refined, 
educated woman, a good Catholic, the wife 
of a Southerner high up in a railroad com- 
pany. He was of no religion, but had a kind 
and liberal heart, a gentleman, and a most 
courteous one. No matter how busy he was, 
if some poor timid little Sister asked to see 
him, and begged some favor of transportation 
for the poor, or for the Sisters, the pass was 
always given, and in answer to her gratitude 
he would only say, "Pray for me and mine." 

249 



250 THE HAND OF MEECY 

Needless to say the promise was fervently 
given. And now he was stricken, ill unto 
death ! 

"Oh! Father, he is so good and kind I can- 
not see him die, or let him die outside the 
Church ! 9 ' cried his wife. 

I asked her if she thought he objected in 
any way to her religion, if he was at all 
bigoted. 

"On the contrary, Father. He said only 
yesterday that he couldn't help thinking of 
those good little Sisters who used to come to 
him for free transportation for a thousand 
charitable purposes — for missions of charity 
or mercy, and he was wondering what was in 
their religion that made them so self-sacri- 
ficing. He has always given me full sway 
in the practice of mine. I have prayed for 
him all our years together that he might be 
of the Faith before he dies: Because of these 
sentiments I sent for you." 

"Is he worse than usual now?" I asked. 

"I don't think so; I cannot give up hope. 
May God spare him to me!" 

"Let me go to his room. Introduce me for 
what I am — a Catholic priest," I said. 

"Let me see if he is strong enough," was 
her answer. 

She went into the adjoining room. In a 



"BETTER THINGS" 251 

few minutes she returned with a joyful coun- 
tenance. 

"He says he will be extremely pleased to 
see you, Father." 

We entered the room of the patient — a man 
a little beyond middle age, with a fine, pre- 
possessing face and a splendid head crowned 
with iron-gray hair. He reached out a finely- 
formed hand, and smiled a greeting. 

"I have often met gentlemen of your cloth, 
Father," he said, "when I had the advantage 
of you. Now you have the advantage of me. ' } 

"I would be sorry to have the advantage 
of such a man as you are," I said, heartily; 
"You deserve well of every one who has 
ever met you." 

"My wife thinks that, Father. But I 
never heard any one else say so on such short 
acquaintance." 

"It isn't my profession to flatter," I said, 
"but it seems to me a higher Voice than 
either your wife 's or mine has led me to you. 
I mean to have a chat with you as only a 
friend can have with a friend." 

Just then, as if God's finger had moved 
visibly, the trained nurse entered and said the 
wife was wanted at the telephone. Both left 
the room. I was alone with the sick man, and 
I seized the opportunity God gave me. I 



252 THE HAND OF MERCY 

spoke boldly of his soul, of the absolute 
necessity of religion, of the meaning of the 
judgments of God. He listened, and when 
he spoke I felt that a miracle of grace was 
working in his heart, for he said simply that 
he had been thinking it over for a long time ; 
he believed all the mysteries of religion; he 
was convinced that the Catholic Faith was 
the only true, logical faith. He watched his 
good wife, had listened to her, and he had 
seen those Sisters of Charity and Mercy 
spending their lives for the betterment of 
others. The motive must be sublime, founded 
on absolute truth. 

"Father," he said, "when those little nuns 
looked up at me with tears of gratitude in 
their eyes for a simple pass on our railroad, 
and told me they would pray for me, I felt 
as if some power was protecting me and keep- 
ing me for better things. Do you know I 
have never been baptized in any church? I 
would like you to baptize me." 

"Gladly will I do so," I rejoined. "Shall 
we wait until to-morrow? I can tell you 
more about our holy religion then." 

"I know enough about it to want to be 
baptized. Do it now, Father. Call my wife. 
It will rejoice her heart to see me made a 
Catholic Christian." 



"BETTER THINGS" 253 

As if in answer to the request, his wife 
entered. 

i ' Mary, the Father is going to baptize me, ' ' 
he said simply. 

His wife burst into tears — tears of joy. 
It took only a few minutes to baptize this 
good, straightforward, sincere man, and I 
never saw such peace and content on a human 
face as settled on his when the ceremony was 
over and I said good-by. 

1 ' Come to-morrow, Father. There is some 
more to be done," he said as I left. 

How I pondered on the infinite love of 
God on my way back to the rectory ! It was 
the prayers of his wife and the reward no 
doubt of his charity to those good Eeligious 
that obtained the grace of conversion. 

But the next morning the papers had long 
columns about the railroad magnate who had 
been ill for some days at the X Hotel. 

He had died during the night! 



THE MASTER'S GOODNESS. 

T HAD come from a visit to the city, where 
-*- I found a young clerical friend about 
leaving for the West to regain his lost health. 
I was grieved. His zeal and usefulness were 
unbounded, and the few years he had spent in 
the ministry gave promise of an apostolate 
worthy of a hero of Christ. While I was 
with him I could not but be impressed with 
his cheerful optimism, which rode down all 
adverse appearances. He was determined 
to get well and return to his work. But my 
heart misgave me as he told me he had been 
chaplain to the City Pest House and the 
Tuberculosis Hospital. 

He had labored untiringly and without a 
thought of danger, and with the assurance 
that he was taking all possible care against 
infection, that he was immune. 

Suddenly he awoke to the fact of the ap- 
proach of the insidious " white plague.' * In- 
stantly his Bishop had ordered him to Color- 
ado, where, physicians declared, he might 
shut off the danger and recover what he had 
lost. A new volunteer was appointed in his 

254 



THE MASTER'S GOODNESS 255 

place, and my young friend was relieved of 
the fear that his dear patients might be 
neglected. 

I looked at him with dubious eyes ; he was 
so frail and now and then a tell-tale cough 
was in evidence. But he had youth and hope, 
and with a silent prayer I encouraged him: 
Heroes are scarce in this selfish world ! Here 
was surely one! Before we parted he told 
me one of his experiences. I could find no 
greater incentive to trust in the Heart of 
Christ than the story which fell from his 
lips. Let me quote the young priest's words : 

"Father Alexander," he said, "I have had 
some strange experiences in the Pest House 
and Consumptives' Hospital, but this one 
happened only a week or two ago and is still 
fresh in my memory. I was called to the 
'phone by one of the nurses at the Pest 
House. A smallpox patient, a Catholic, was 
very low and had not received the Sacra- 
ments. 

"I instantly changed my clothes, took the 
usual precautions, and went to the church, 
where I placed the Sacred Host in my pyx 
and started for the hospital. When I ar- 
rived there I went to the patient, who was 
perfectly conscious but had every appearance 
of a dying man. I heard his confession, ex- 



256 THE HAND OF MEEGY 

horted him to patience and resignation, and 
told him I would give him Holy Viaticum 
and then Extreme Unction. He was calm 
and resigned. When the table was prepared 
and I opened my pyx, I found to my amaze- 
ment there were two Sacred Hosts, quite de- 
tached from each other. Now I was positive 
I had only taken one from the Tabernacle at 
home, absolutely sure of it. There was no sign 
of their having adhered to each other. Both 
were quite perfect and it seemed impossible 
they could have been lifted from the ciborium 
together. 

"I was so distracted that it took me several 
seconds to collect myself and administer the 
Last Sacraments to the poor dying man. I 
did so, however, and when I gave the final 
blessing to the poor fellow he seemed to have 
but a few hours to live. 

"But I could not overcome my mental dis- 
turbance over the presence of the second 
sacred Particle that remained in the pyx, and 
on a venture I asked the nurse if there was 
any other Catholic in the house. 

" 'No, Father,' was the reply; ' there is 
no one else.' 

"I turned to leave the hospital and had 
reached the door. As I was about passing 
through, the porter who opened it said: 



THE MASTEB'S GOODNESS 257 

" 'Did you see the new patient who was 
brought in last night, Father V 

1 ' ' Why, no, ' I replied. ' A Catholic ? ' 

" i Nobody knows what he is, for he has 
never spoken. He doesn't look like a Cath- 
olic; he was fixed up too fine! He isn't a 
poor man, that's sure,' and the man smiled. 

"I was about to go on when some impulse 
arrested me. 

" 'I'll see about him,' I said in a low tone, 
for I carried the sacred pyx. 

"I went to the office and inquired, learning 
that a strange man, a gentleman by his dress, 
was brought there quite insensible. He had 
been picked up in the street, and the lookers- 
on, judging from his inflamed face, thought he 
was intoxicated. An examination by medical 
experts at the police station proved that it 
was a case of smallpox, with high fever. At 
once he was hustled into the Pest House am- 
bulance and hurried off. He had a valuable 
watch and a diamond pin, plenty of money 
and his clothes were of the best material, but 
there were no papers — nothing that could 
identify him: He had not spoken or unclosed 
his eyes since he came. 

" 'And, Father,' said the office man, 'they 
say he is an awful sight. You would not know 



258 THE HAND OF MERCY 

whether he is a white man or a negro. It 
is the worst form of black smallpox ! ' 

" 'I must see him,' I said*. 

" 'I don't think there is much use/ said the 
clerk. 'No one knows anything about him, 
and as he is entirely unconscious you can't 
give him religious rites, for there is no mark 
of religion about him!' 

"The impulse within me was too strong 
to resist. 

" 'I want to see him,' I persisted. 

" 'All right, Father; just as you say!' and 
he led the way down the corridor, with its 
pungent smell of iodoform, and pointed to 
a closed door. 'In there, Father.' 

"I knew the place. It led to a room where 
hopeless cases lay, never again to see the 
outside world. I opened the door of the 
passage and found the room. The door was 
ajar. The light was dim, but I could see that 
the man was alone: He was breathing 
heavily. The nurse was pacing the hallway. 

"The patient was indeed a terrible sight! 
His face was so swollen that it was hardly 
human and in the dim light would not be 
recognized by his closest friend. I stood 
beside the bed. There was no sign of life 
save that heavy breathing. 



THE MASTER'S GOODNESS 259 

" 'My friend/ I said in a distinct voice, 'I 
am a Catholic priest. Are yon a Catholic V 

"With a qnick flutter the eyelids moved. 
There was a flash of intelligence and they 
dropped shut. Just then the orderly entered, 
saying respectfully: 

" ' Father, he is unconscious. He will die 
in this stupor. The doctors say there is not 
the slightest hope!' I motioned him away. 

" 'My dear friend,' I said to the patient, 
'I think you are conscious. If you under- 
stand me, and wish to go to confession and 
Holy Communion, I have the Blessed Sacra- 
ment with me: Let me know by pressing my 
handp and I took the swollen hand in mine. 
Instantly I felt a strong pressure. I turned 
to the orderly. 

" 'The man is speechless, but he is con- 
scious,' I said, 'and I mean to hear his con- 
fession. Stay outside until I call you.' 

"The orderly gave me an incredulous look, 
but obeyed and closed the door. I began by 
telling the poor sufferer that I would make 
his confession and he must press my hand. 
It was touching and almost drew tears from 
my eyes, the effort he made to respond. I 
was perfectly satisfied. When I told him I 
had Our Lord with me, he tried to extend 
his poor swollen tongue to prove to me his 



260 THE HAND OF MERCY 

desire to receive Holy Communion, and when 
I gave him the Blessed Sacrament, a great 
tear rolled down his face. There was a glass 
of water near, and I assisted him, with spoon- 
fuls, to swallow the Sacred Particle. When 
he did so I anointed him, scarcely finding a 
healthy spot for the holy oil: 

"All this time his eyes spoke the most piti- 
ful language ever seen in a human face. 

"My feelings almost overcame me. I 
never thought of contagion. I gave every con- 
solation of the Church to this poor, speech- 
less, disfigured Christian, and left with the 
conviction that another soul would soon be 
in paradise. I knew now the destination of 
the second sacred Host, so strangely placed 
in my pyx. When I returned to the rectory 
I changed my clothes and bathed^ while my 
mind still ran on the strange circumstance. 

"Next day the telephone rang about noon. 
It was from the Pest House. 

" 'Father/ said the office man. 'I thought 
you would like to hear about the stranger 
you saw yesterday. He was a respectable man 

— a man of property from A . His friends 

were almost crazy when they heard he was 
here: He was a good Catholic and went to 
his duty every week. They said he often 
told them he prayed every day he might not 



THE MASTER'S GOODNESS 261 

die without the priest. When they found out 
that you were with him, they wept with 
gratitude. He died an hour after you left. 
The remains were sealed in a lead casket 
and they sent a special hearse for them just 
now. I thought you would like to know about 
it,' said the clerk. 

" ' Thank you/ I said, 'and what about 
the man I was sent for?' 

' ' ' Oh, he is better. He will get well, ' w^as 
the reply. 

"I hung up the receiver. How strange it 
seemed! That good man, lying helpless, 
speechless and unknown, dying of a dread 
disease, and yet passing into eternity with all 
the helps of holy Church! The Sacraments 
administered by a priest, who did not know 
of his existence until the marvelous and 
puzzling appearance of a second Host in his 
pyx impelled him to seek him out. 

i ' Oh, Heart of Christ, how could we fail to 
trust in Thee ! ' ' 

*7r *«* tF *w 'f? 

The young priest paused. We were both 
touched: I grasped his hand. 

"God-speed your journey," I murmured. 
"Come back well. We need you!" 



THE ELEVENTH HOUR. 

13 ASSING through the long lines of beds 
-*■ in a western hospital I found an in- 
telligent looking man of middle age lying 
on one of them. I had been on a sick call, 
and was about to leave, but before doing so 
I generally look about to see if any other 
patient needs a priest. Unfortunately, 
sometimes they have not the grace or the 
courage to ask for one. The face of this 
stranger attracted me. I asked a nurse who 
he was. 

"A Protestant preacher, sir," said he. 
"He has come down pretty low when he 
has to be taken to a ward in a City Hos- 
pital!" 

" Where does he- belong?" said I. 

' * Somewhere out West. But he has a few 
friends. They bring him magazines and 
books:" 

When I returned to the ward I went to 
the stranger, and saluted him pleasantly. 

"I suppose you know I am a Catholic 
priest," said I, "but I always like to say a 

262 



THE ELEVENTH HOUR 263 

friendly word to those who are suffering, 
even if they are not Catholics. " 

"I am not a Catholic,'' said he. 

"I know that," said I. "But we are both 
ministers of the Gospel, and in that way we 
are not strangers!" 

He drifted at once to other topics, spoke 
fluently and well of the events of the day, 
and showed such an intelligent grasp of 
affairs in general and particular, that I felt 
quite interested in him and said so. 

"It isn't often one meets a man like you in 
a hospital ward ! I have been very agreeably 
surprised. I sincerely hope you will soon 
recover. May I call to see you again?" 

' i If you wish, ' ' said he. "I have not many 
friends. Life is made up of many bitter 
things — such, at least, has been my exper- 
ience, but pray for me ! ' ' 

I left. As I pressed his hand I said, i ' Trust 
in God! He is our best friend — and never 
forsakes us. You know that. Good-by!" 

I went again to the hospital. My friend 
seemed worse each time. He was seized with 
dreadful shivering fits. He trembled from 
head to foot. The very bed shook. It was 
distressing to look at him. I could not get 
him out of my mind. One day, going to see 
him, I met a man at the hospital gate. 



264 THE HAND OF MERCY 

"You seem interested in Mr. P ," said 

he. 

' < The Protestant minister V ' said I. " Yes; 
He is such an intelligent man! I feel quite 
sorry he grows worse ! ' ' 

"Protestant minister !" he ejaculated. 
"Why, he's only a renegade Catholic, who 
went West, lived wild, and turned to preach- 
ing eventually for a living! He thinks no- 
body knows him here, but in his younger 
days he was a fairly good Catholic. He 
hasn't long to live, poor fellow. I go there 
to see a friend of mine, and he knows I know 
him!" 

I didn't say a word, but hurried to the 
ward. The poor man was in one of his ter- 
rible nervous fits, shaking as if he had an 
uncontrollable chill. The perspiration was 
standing out on his forehead and rolling on 
the pillow. The shadow of death was on his 
face. I sat down on the chair close beside 
him, and taking his clammy hand, I said: 

"My friend, you are going to die, and you 
know I am a priest. You, too, are a Cath- 
olic. I want you to make your confession. I 
will help you all I can, ' ' and I took my stole 
out of my pocket*. 

He looked at me despairingly. Then he 
turned his face away. 



THE ELEVENTH HOUR 265 

"What!" said I, "you are going to refuse 
this last grace?" 

"Father," said he, "there is no salvation 
for me. I have been a traitor of the deepest 
dye. I have disgraced my family. I have 
broken my mother's heart. I have left the 
Church of my childhood and railed against 
it in public and private. I have been blacker 
than Judas, because I have betrayed all that 
I loved with greater knowledge and with 
bitter malice." And just then another one of 
those uncontrollable chills seized him, and lest 
he injure himself some of the orderlies came 
over and held him down. 

When he became quiet, I spoke to him 
calmly and soothingly. His frank acknowl- 
edgment had all the effect of confession on 
his soul. It broke through the rigid barriers 
of pride and despair. It was enough. I saw 
my opportunity and I availed myself of it 
with all the tact I possessed. The result was 
that he poured out his soul in a flood of hum- 
ble and unreserved confession. It was like 
the rushing of many waters, and when it was 
gone it left his soul purified from all stains 
and in peace. A sweet holy calm seemed to 
possess him. He lay there as a sleeping babe 
might. While I administered the sacred unc- 
tion, great tears rolled down his cheeks, and 



266 THE HAND OF MEECY 

when I was through and was placing my stole 
and oil-stock in my pocket, he opened wide 
his eyes and with a look of ineffable joy 
and confidence he said : 

"God is good. No truer word did you ever 
utter, Father, than when you said He was 
our best friend." 

I warmly pressed his hand and turned to 
go. As I looked around I saw the burly 
negro orderly, who with difficulty had held 
the sick man's feet a half hour before, lean- 
ing on his mop, silently and reverently watch- 
ing the whole proceeding; for it was in the 
open ward. I took my departure, promising 
to return next day, and on my way home 
marvelled at the goodness and mercy of God, 
who had sought out this wandering sheep 
and brought him back to the pastures he 
had deserted. I went back early next morn- 
ing, but the weary stranger had gone to his 
rest, the prodigal, had found his Father. 
Death had come in the night. 

As I glanced at the empty bed, I saw a 
crippled, merry-hearted Irishman beckoning 
me to his corner. 

"Father, ye did a good work for that poor 
fellow," said he. "He died in peace and 
quietness, and I think happy, and thankful 
to the Almighty. But the black man ye saw 



THE ELEVENTH HOUR 267 

moppin' up the flure said it was the i powerful 
little cotton-plasters' ye put on his hands 
and feet that quieted him down, and gave 
him the happy death. Maybe, Father dear, 
youll have his soul on the strength of them 
same 'plasters'!" 

"True to the sunny Isle you came from, 
Patrick," thought I, "mingling a joke with 
the keenest suffering!" 



HER RECOMPENSE. 

HPHE sunshine shone brightly one morning 
-*- into a great hospital ward in the city of 
St. Louis. Weary sufferers raised their 
heads from their pillows, and eyes dim with 
pain grew bright as they watched it gild 
the white beds. It crept over little tables, 
where here and there a vase of flowers 
bloomed, and over the pillows, where suf- 
ferers, too ill to note it, lay silent with 
closed eyes. 

There were beds, too, with screens around 
them, which meant that the long, last journey 
was close at hand, but the sunshine gilded 
them too, though the occupants noted it not ! 
Nurses in pure white uniforms glided noise- 
lessly here and there, doctors went gravely 
from bed to bed, giving hope and comfort to 
many hearts. The sunshine flooded all and 
made the sad scene less sad, less painful. 

There were nuns there, too, with chastened 
faces and tender touch, with gentle voices and 
kind eyes, and weary lips smiled when they 
stood at their bedsides: There was one of 
them now standing at the pillow of a pale 

268 



HER RECOMPENSE 269 

invalid, wiping the sweat of agony from her 
forehead and holding a little crucifix to her 
willing lips every now and then. She was 
not dying, unless you call such agony for 
fifteen years a constant death. These were 
but paroxysms of torture from her crippled 
spine, which came and went and left her help- 
less. 

* ' Poor Bessie, ? ? said the nun. ' ' It is so hard 
to see you suffer and not be able to relieve 
you, unless you want the hypodermic." 

"No, Sister, no! Am I not expiating for 
poor Charlie ! Poor boy ! If he only knew ! ' ' 
said the invalid, whose face was resuming 
its normal expression now that the con- 
vulsion was over. 

" If he only knew ! ' ' murmured the nun com- 
passionately ; and she held a restorative to the 
white lips of the patient, smoothed her pil- 
lows, and bathed her forehead and wrists. 

"Sister," said Bessie, "I suffered this 
way nearly all night. Something seemed to 
say, 'Take courage, God will not forsake 
your poor brother!' I bore it all, offered 
it all to my Saviour on the cross for poor 
Charlie." 

"Blessed are they who suffer and hope, 
Bessie," said the Sister, softly. "You have 
been with us for fifteen years, and your one 



270 THE HAND OF MERCY 

thought has been of that unworthy, reckless 
brother. His conversion will surely be your 
reward. God will not let such faith and 
patience go without recompense. ' ' 

" Don't call him unworthy and reckless, 
Sister. He never meant to be either. When 
he was a little, curly-headed fellow he used 
to get into every kind of mischief, but he al- 
ways came to me. I can see his black eyes 
flashing with temper, and hear him saying: 
'Bess, you're the only friend a poor kid has. 
If they don't stop naggin' me, I'll run off. 
But I'll never forget you, Bessie.' They 
were hard on him, Sister — father and mother 
were — and he did run off, and once in a while 
he'd write a letter on the sly and tell me 
where to answer. I used to beg him not to 
forget his night prayers at least, and to go 
to Mass, but then I got this fall and was 
crippled, and he never wrote but once after — 
only once in these fifteen years. He said he 
didn't believe in religion any more. That 
church and praying were for women, and 
he'd leave me to do his share. Then, Sister, 
I promised God I would suffer all the agony 
of this awful back and never murmur if He 
would bring Charlie around. Since I have 
been in this blessed place it has been easier. 
He is never a minute out of my mind." 



HER EECOMPENSE 271 

"How many rosaries do you say a day 
for him, Bessie, besides all the suffering?" 

"Well, Sister, as I have nothing else to 
do I say the fifteen decades twice in the morn- 
ing and twice in the afternoon, and a few 
other little prayers between the pains." 

"God bless you, dear," said the nun. 
"Keep on suffering and praying. Put me 
in your prayers too, Bessie — I need them." 

"Is it you?" said Bessie, incredulously. 
"Never a prayer do you need. Taking care 
of all of us, and of the like of me, from 
year's end to year's end. You'll go right up, 
Sister," and she tried to motion with her 
twisted hand and arm toward the blue sky. 

The nun laughed softly ; then straightening 
the covers and giving a pressure to the hand 
that held the worn rosary, she went on her 
round of duty. 

Poor Bessie had indeed suffered and 
prayed for fifteen years. She offered it all for 
Charlie, her wild and only brother, who had 
drifted from the Church and was some place 
in the wide world — Bessie knew not where. 
But the marvellous faith of the poor cripple 
was so vivid that every one was interested in 
her, and her piety, patience and resignation 
made every one love her. 

She had a remarkably sweet face and a 



272 THE HAND OF MERCY 

soft, winning voice, and the doctors and 
nurses who succeeded each other year after 
year looked on her as a prodigy, and did 
everything skill and science could suggest, 
even though unavailing, to help her condition. 
She never murmured when they told her after 
an unsuccessful operation or an agonizing 
examination that nothing could be done. 
She only smiled and said: "Well, I don't 
mind; I'll suffer for poor Charlie." 

Those fifteen years of torture were an 
apostolate for one, single soul. A daily ser- 
mon was preached from that hospital cot, 
which was a silent but powerful incentive to 
many a discouraged heart to keep on with- 
out wearying. The Sisters felt Bessie's good 
influence in the hospital. Because she was 
incurable and without money or friends, 
they took tendqr care of her, and she loved 
them with all her soul. 

One day the superior came to me with a 
paper in her hand. 

"Father Alexander," she said, "I wonder 
if this could be Bessie's brother? It is a 
Pittsburg paper that has found its way 
somehow to St. Louis, and here is an account 
of an accident case — a man whose name is 
given as Charles Horton. He was taken to 
Southside Hospital. The name struck me. 



HER RECOMPENSE 273 

Charles Horton! Would it be worth while 
to inquire?" 

"It certainly would," was my reply. I 
thought a minute and said: "Suppose you 
write to the Sisters in Pittsburg. They visit 
the hospitals and would make inquiries; If 
good is to be effected we must go about it 
quietly. } ' 

Her letter went that day, giving an ac- 
count of Bessie, and asking the superior to 
ascertain if the man had a sister, also what 
his sentiments were. Nothing was to be said 
to Bessie till information was obtained. 
Nearly two weeks elapsed. We were giving 
up hope and were glad Bessie knew nothing 
about it, when the superior came to me. I 
knew by her face that there was news. 

"Here is the reply to that letter, Father 
Alexander. Let us tell Bessie at once. I 
will do so, while you read the letter. It is 
quite a document." 

She departed. I learned from the letter 
that the Sisters in Pittsburg had gone at 
once to the Southside Hospital, a non-Cath- 
olic institution, and were received very 
kindly; They found that a man by the name 
of Charles Horton was there. When told 
that two Sisters of Mercy were inquiring 
for him, he was extremely unwilling to see 



274 THE HAND OF MERCY 

them, and only after much urging consented 
to have them enter his room. 

He was weak and miserable, and evidently 
not far from the end, but his manner was 
barely civil. He declared that he was not a 
Catholic, and seemed so ill at ease that it 
was distressing to talk to him. Finally the 
Sister spoke of the letter from St. Louis, 
asking him if he had not a sister there. In- 
stantly his face changed, and he held out his 
hand. 

"Yes, oh, yes, I have! How do you know? 
Is she well ?" 

"She is praying for you, searching the 
world for one word about you. She loves 
you as much to-day as when you were a 
curly-headed little fellow, telling her your 
troubles. " 

The hard face softened more. 

"Yes," he said, "that's Bessie. That's 
just like Bessie ! How she would hurry here 
if she knew!" 

"But she cannot come. Don't you know 
that she hurt her back fifteen years ago, and 
has been crippled ever since? Don't you know 
that she cannot move out of bed, hut suffers 
terrible agony of the nerves and muscles? 
And don't you know that she lies there, f 
sweet and patient, offering it all for ' Charlie, ' 



HER RECOMPENSE 275 

begging the Lord to bring him back to the 
Church of his boyhood?" 

" She suffers?" said the man: "God help 
me ! She was the most innocent girl that ever 
lived ! She has been suffering fifteen years — 
for me? 0, Bessie, my little sister!" said the 
poor fellow, tears rushing to his eyes. 

The nun soothed him. 

"Because she loves you so much she has 
begged God not to let her die, but to increase 
her pains, that your faults might be ex- 
piated and you brought back to the Church. ' ' 

"Faults!" he cried. "Sister, they are 
crimes! I have been committing crimes for 
twenty years ! I have led a wild life ! I have 
never thought of God except to curse His 
name ! But now — now I feel as if my heart is 
broken. Can I see a priest?" 

"Indeed you can," said the nun. "But 
oh, how you should thank this dear sister for 
this grace. Be comforted. We will send a 
priest here at once. Let me place this Sacred 
Heart badge upon you. We will go home to 
our convent. All the Sisters will pray for you 
— and, poor fellow, we will write to Bessie." 

He held the Sister's hand as she rose to go 
after a fervent prayer at his bedside. Then 
promising to return next day, the Sisters left. 
Before leaving the hospital they telephoned 



276 THE HAND OF MERCY 

one of the Fathers of a neighboring monas- 
tery: 

Later that evening the convent telephone 
rang. It was the Father who had gone to 
the hospital. He wished to tell the Sisters 
that poor Charlie was a most sincere peni- 
tent, that he had made his confession, re- 
ceived the Sacraments, and was prepared 
for and resigned to death. He begged the 
Father to ask the nuns to return. There was 
joy in heaven and earth that night over the 
sinner's return to God. 

Early next morning the Sisters went to 
the hospital. Charlie was still living, but 
fast approaching the dark river whence those 
who embark never return. He smiled 
faintly, laying his hand on the little badge 
of the Sacred Heart. 

"Tell Bessie it was her prayers,' * he whis- 
pered. "Tell her I felt that she was pray- 
ing for me. I die happy, a penitent 
Catholic.' ' 

The Sister gave him her crucifix; he 
looked long at it, held it tightly. After the 
prayers for the dying were said the Sisters 
returned home to pray. 

At noon came the message from the priest 
who attended him : 

' ' Charlie died at eleven o 'clock. I was with 
him and gave him the last absolution. He 



HER RECOMPENSE 277 

was conscious, and said to me, 'It was Bes- 
sie's prayers. Tell her I died happy.' " 

■M. 4fr *&0 Jg. Aim 

*7v" *7r *K t "«• *Jr 

I found myself so absorbed in the closely 
written pages of this long letter, that when 
the superior came into the room I did not 
hear her. 

"Father Alexander, Bessie knows. I told 
her what was in the letter, and she is as 
radiant as an angel. Won't you go to her, 
Father? She wept with joy and excitement, 
but she is calm now." 

I went to Bessie's bedside. It was true. 
Her face was angelic, her soft, dark eyes 
were full of heavenly light, her delicate face 
was rosy with joy. I never saw a counte- 
nance more beautiful — she seemed rather of 
heaven than of earth. 

"Oh, Father Alexander !" she cried; "God 
has been so good to me! Charlie has come 
back! We will both be home together. 
Oh," she said solemnly, "I have nothing 
more to do now; I hope I'll go home soon. 
Bring Our Lord to me and anoint me." 

I was startled, but I would not show it. I 
said: 

"You are excited, Bessie; you must wait 
God's will. He has indeed been good to you. 
Won't you stay with us and offer your 
thanksgiving to Him?" 



278 THE HAND OF MERCY 

"I cannot/' she said. "My mission is 
ended. My heart longs to see my Lord and 
tell Him my gratitude.' ' 

"Well, then, Bessie, to-morrow morning I 
will bring Our Lord to you, and if you are 
worse I will anoint you." 

"Thank you, Father," she said, simply. 

I went on my round of duty, but try as I 
might, I could not keep my thoughts away 
from Bessie. They told me her sufferings 
that night were excruciating. She bore them 
with sweetness, almost with joy. Now and 
then she would say with a sigh, "Will morn- 
ing soon be here? Our Lord is coming!" 

It was Sunday morning: I went early to 
her bedside. There was no mistake now— 
Bessie was dying. Her face was white as 
marble, and her pinched features told of 
her sufferings: A table was ready. Some 
of the nuns and more of the patients knelt 
there, while I gave her Holy Viaticum and 
anointed her. When I was leaving she tried 
to clasp her poor little twisted hands to- 
gether, and whispered, "Come back, Father; 
it won't be long now." I went back as soon 
as possible. She was sinking rapidly, but 
the pinched features had disappeared, and 
her face glowed as it did when the news of 
her brother's conversion first reached her. 



HEE BECOMPENSE 279 

Every one was impressed by the beauty of 
her countenance, and yet death was upon it, 
too. I read the solemn prayers of the 
Church, so majestic and so consoling. As I 
paused I heard her say, softly : ' ' Only fifteen 
years! So short a time for such a great 
reward !" 

In an instant that long stretch of days and 
nights came before me, with their torture and 
their weariness, and I felt something rising in 
my throat which threatened to choke my ut- 
terance: "Only" fifteen years. "Onlyl" 

She was dying now. Her eyes closed, and 
as the last faint gasps succeeded each other, 
the silence was intense. Suddenly her eyes 
opened wide and a beautiful smile passed 
over her face*. It faded into marble white. I 
raised my hand in absolution and then, and 
as if it were so ordained, it seemed as if 
every church bell in the city began to ring. 
Sweet, loud and strong the Sunday chimes 
pealed forth. The effect was electrical. It 
was like a paean of triumph. 

Bessie was dead! Her apostolate for one 
single soul was over. Sister and brother were 
with God. 

I shall never forget the beauty of that 
death-bed. 



"HE CAME UNTO HIS OWN." 

T T WAS the Christmas time of 1910. High 
-*- up in the mountains of Western Pennsyl- 
vania, a little mining town called Whitney 
nestled among the hills. The miners and 
their families lived poor and simple lives 
from year to year. In the early morning the 
hardworking father and brothers took their 
frugal breakfast, and with their tin buckets 
and little lamps on their caps, made their 
way to the shaft, and went down deep, deep 
into the bowels of the earth, there to dig and 
delve all day for the dusky diamonds that 
glitter in our grates and warm our homes. 
In the evening, black and sooty, and covered 
with coal dust, these tired men emerged from 
the living darkness to go to their homes for 
a well-earned rest from toil. Some of them 
took the night-turn. It made little difference 
when they went down into the shaft, but it 
was more fatiguing and perhaps more dan- 
gerous to work at night. The faculties, 
maybe, are not so keen, the grip on pick 
and shovel less firm. 
It was only a week after Christmas when 

280 



"HE CAME UNTO HIS OWN" 281 

the good pastor of this little village, who 
had taken care of the happiness and spiritual 
needs of his flock, drew breath after the 
fatigues of the strenuous Christmas and New 
Years' celebrations. The children had been 
made happy by simple gifts, their elders had 
flocked to the little church; the evergreens 
still hung about the altar. The pastor was 
thinking of these things one early morning 
after Mass and breakfast, as he slowly drove 
his horse and buggy along the snow-covered 
road. The hills were bleak, the fields white and 
frosty. Not a creature was visible. The 
horse suddenly turned into a path not often 
used by the pastor in his journeyings. He 
did not check him. Suddenly there loomed 
up before him a wagon moving slowly. 
Something about it arrested the priest's at- 
tention. He drove faster, and soon came up 
with it. It was covered with heavy black 
oil-cloth, and the priest recognized the am- 
bulance of the mines. 

He alighted from his buggy and called to 
the driver. 

"Any one in there?" he said, pointing to 
the ambulance: 

"Why, yes, there's a man we are carrying 
to the Latrobe Hospital," answered the 
driver. 



282 THE HAND OF MEECY 

"What happened?' ' said the priest. 

"Got his legs crushed in the mines last 
night — but he'll be all right when we get 
him there. They'll fix him up!" 

"I'll just look in at him," said the priest, 
and as the driver did not seem anxious to stop 
or delay, the priest tied his horse to the am- 
bulance and let it follow, while he went in- 
side to the patient. 

A man was lying on a stretcher, seemingly 
in great pain. The Father recognized one 
of his parishioners. 

"Thank God, Father," he said. "I am 
glad to see you. I'm hurt bad." 

And he was, poor fellow! 

At once the priest urged him to go to con- 
fession so that even if he were "fixed up" at 
the hospital, it would be comforting for him 
to feel he had made his peace with God. 

In low whispers the consoling Sacrament 
of Penance was administered, while the 
mine-doctor and the driver sat in front, 
and the ambulance drove slowly down the 
snowy road. The priest gave absolution, 
said a few encouraging words, told how the 
Child of Bethlehem had come on earth to 
redeem His own this Christmas-tide ; and left 
him with his blessing, and with the promise 
to visit him at the hospital. 



"HE CAME UNTO HIS OWN" 283 

Then with kindly greeting, he left the am- 
bulance, got into his buggy, and went his way 
— pondering on the mercy of God, the tender- 
ness of the blessed Saviour who had sent him 
this early morn, in the Christmas tide, to 
comfort and aid a poor crushed human crea- 
ture, one of His own whom He had come to 
redeem. 

The ambulance went on its rough way, 
along the weary road to the hospital. When 
it arrived there,* the doctor and the driver 
went to lift out the poor patient and take him 
to the little cot prepared for him. 

The man was dead. 



INSPIRATIONS. 

" T^ATHER ALEXANDER," said a gray- 

-*- haired missionary to me one day. 
"You are getting to be a famous story-teller. 
Why don't you tell the brethren the value of 
Inspirations? The mistake of putting aside 
a desire to do something that has just come 
into the mind, because it is not in the usual 
routine, or because it may inconvenience the 
person to whom it is suggested. Some act 
of supererogation, so to say. Now, there is 
an idea to write about!" 

"But, Father," I ventured, "I don't think 
I catch your meaning!" 

"If I illustrated it by personal experience, 
would you take it up?" 

"I would, indeed," I said warmly. This 
was a priest who had grown gray in the mis- 
sion field — one whom I venerated as a saint. 

"Well, I'll tell you," said he, leaning back, 
and folding his hands thoughtfully. "About 
two weeks ago I was sitting in my room writ- 
ing. It faced a noisy street All day long, 
trolley cars, wagons, carts, and people passed 

284 



INSPIRATIONS 285 

by in a continuous stream. I rarely went to 
the window. I wrote at my table, and I said 
my Breviary walking up and down. The city 
noises had ceased to be a distraction to me, 
and my prayers were as fervent as when I 
was in church. That afternoon I was writ- 
ing a letter and had come to a stop; sud- 
denly a thought came to me: Go to the win- 
dow ! I hesitated a moment. It was not my 
wont to appear at the window, but the thought 
urged me : Go at once ! 

"I sprang to my feet, and went to the 
window. I saw a crowd. A trolley car had 
stopped in front of our door. Mutterings 
were heard like summer thunder far away, 
and I saw dozens of men trying to hoist the 
wheels from a crushed human form. The 
car had been emptied, and they succeeded. 
When the white face of the man appeared, in- 
stinctively I snatched my stole that was on 
a chair and, raising my hand, gave him con- 
ditional absolution, and (if he were a Cath- 
olic), the plenary indulgence in articulo mor- 
tis. It was the work of a minute or two. Then 
I saw men lifting him up, and carrying him 
directly to our door. I rushed downstairs. 
The door had been opened, and the poor man 
lay on the floor in the vestibule while the mor- 
bid crowd was shut out. 



286 THE HAND OF MEECY 

"They made way for me, but all was over. 
He was dead. The car wheels had gone over 
his breast. I looked at him. He was one of 
my own parishioners — a good man, who had 
been to confession to me only a week before. 
' Father,' said one of the men who carried 
him, 'he was breathing when the car wheel 
was lifted!/ 

" 'Yes,' said another, 'he breathed while 
we were carrying him in here. It was the 
nearest place and he is a Catholic.' 

" 'He is one of my penitents,' I said, 'and 
he is safe with God. May his soul rest in 
peace V 

" 'Amen,' said they all, with their hats 
removed; 

"Then came the doctor, the coroner, the 
friends ; and all the attendant confusion. He 
cared little, the poor, crushed being, who had, 
through God's inspiration I verily believe, re- 
ceived the last absolution and plenary in- 
dulgence. Had I waited, had I neglected the 
inward voice, it would have been too late." 

I said nothing, but my thoughts were busy. 
He went on. 

"Sometimes, after lunch, I pass through 
the sacristy, making a visit to the Blessed 
Sacrament. Often I am tired, and want to 
go immediately to my room to rest. The 



INSPIRATIONS 287 

thought comes often : Look out in the church. 
I dare not 'down that thought' with the ex- 
cuse: 'If any one is at that box, he has come 
out of hours and doesn't deserve to be 
heard.' I'm afraid to say that. I go and 
look out in the church. Sometimes I see a 
form shrinking into a pew at the door of the 
confessional. I go down and find a strayed 
sheep, man or woman, who has not been to 
the Sacraments for ten, fifteen, twenty-five 
years. Ah! my daily prayer is: From the 
neglect of Thy holy inspirations, deliver me, 
O Lord! I never put them aside." 

"Father, do you think inspirations like 
that come to every one in the ministry?" 

"I certainly do, until the spirit of God is 
unheeded, and then the opportunity to save 
souls is taken away, and given to another. 
Never neglect the quick impulse to do a cer- 
tain good thing that is in line with your 
work. Be habitually in humble readiness for 
God's work, and God's work will always 
come to you. It is lying around everywhere. ' ' 
And here the gentle old man smiled; 

We were both silent, for a few minutes, 
when he suddenly started: 

"Do you know I think somebody wants me 
now?" 

"Hardly," I said, "at the unusual hour 



288 THE HAND OF MERCY 

of 11 :30 in the morning. Every one is think- 
ing of luncheon.' ■ 

"I'll go and see," he simply said. 

I was his guest. I arose and followed him 
downstairs into the sacristy, and as he walked 
down the aisle to his confessional, I saw a 
figure crouching in a pew. The priest en- 
tered the confessional; the figure did the 
same. I knelt at the foot of the altar, mar- 
veling, and praying that the inspirations of 
God might never find a closed door in my 
heart. 

When I met him an hour afterward, at 
luncheon, he said: " Write up that talk we 
had this morning, Father Alexander; I had 
another proof just now that the voice of in- 
spiration is ever with us priests if we only 
follow its whisperings. " 

I have written up the talk. I pray God 
that it may bear fruit. The opening of the 
New Year is a good time to begin. 



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